


March

by TeekiJane



Series: A Year Apart [8]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeekiJane/pseuds/TeekiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>March = spring break, which = Byron. What else could Jeff ask for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First time

**Author's Note:**

> So. I realize I haven’t finished February yet, but I haven’t forgotten about that. The final chapter of February—the final ‘hurrah’ for Jordan—is vexing me still. I have every other chapter for the entire series at least vaguely planned and in a few cases, already written. As such, I figured I’d post this offering and come back with the final chapter of February when it’s done.
> 
>  
> 
> And so _A Year Apart_ soldiers on…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I expected out of my spring break, but Byron surprised me, in the best way possible.

Ladiezman47: so i understand that my brother is coming to visit you next week  
Superjeff15: yeah i have been counting down the minutes. not literally of course because that’s a lot of minutes  
Ladiezman47: have you been stocking up then?  
Superjeff15: stocking up? on food? we always have lots of food neway  
Ladiezman47: im not talking about food. you get your lube and butt plugs and nipple clamps and whatever other kinky things you and byron are into?  
Superjeff15: lol. can u really see by doing anything kinky? ever?  
Ladiezman47: …  
Ladiezman47: i apparently have a better visual imagination than i thought. i’m going to need to go watch a porno to get this vision out of my head  
Superjeff15: ur own fault dude. im not taking responsibility for that

I can’t say my college experience so far had been everything I’d dreamed it would be. I thought I’d be at CSU, hanging out in the dorms, going to class when I felt like it, and generally having a good time. Instead, I went to class in the mornings, worked nights, and spent my weekends studying. 

It wasn’t all bad. Despite the fact that we didn’t have any classes in common this semester, Thomas and I still did our homework together over lunch in the student work room, and we also had a standing date to hang out every Sunday evening. Thomas always brought Diana with him and we’d also amassed a small group of friends. 

One of these was a girl I’d met the second day of the spring semester. She was one of my new study buddies, in two of the same classes I was taking this term. Kinsey was the least likely candidate to obtain a teaching degree. She was the singer with a ska band that played a little club out on the highway every Sunday. Even though none of our group was twenty-one yet, we were all on ‘the list’ and could get into every show. We usually ate dinner and then went to watch the band (for which ‘interesting’ was a good descriptor). Kinsey would join us between sets, her hair spray painted some odd color or another, wearing all black. She had a warped sense of humor and was full of completely useless knowledge. She wanted to teach high school art. 

But I must admit that I wasn’t thinking about Kinsey or the band or even school that morning in March. I had two more pressing thoughts on my mind, one immediate and the other a little further out, although I’d been thinking about that more than anything else over the past few weeks. Byron was due to arrive in a little under a week’s time, and he’d been at the center of my attention ever since I’d started cleaning and prepping for his visit. 

This was going to be big, you understand. Not only was it the first time I’d seen By in seven months, but he was also going to meet my family. Dad still didn’t seem to believe that I was actually attracted to men; I had the feeling he thought this was a phase I was going through—‘experimenting’ or maybe just trying to piss him off. I’d done a lot of that while I was growing up, sometimes on purpose and sometimes not, but nothing I did now seemed to convince him that this had nothing to do with him. 

Carol and Gracie were more excited than confused about Byron’s visit. Gracie had chattered on about him nonstop and had drawn him no fewer than fifteen pictures over the last few days. (One featured By and me holding hands, but since she didn’t know what he looked like, she’d made him twice as tall as I was, with green hair and yellow eyes. He looked like a monster.) 

Carol, despite her excitement, seemed nervous. “This is the first time you’ve brought someone home to meet us,” she said as she and Mrs. Bruen sat down at the dinner table, poring over cookbooks. “I hope he likes us.” 

I sat down beside her. “Don’t you have this a little backward?” I teased. “He’s supposed to be the one worried about making a good impression on you, not the other way around.” 

“It goes both ways, Jeff,” she said, smiling. “If this is someone you want in your life and are making a commitment to, we want to be part of that life, too. Your dad and I want to make this visit fun and easy for both of you.” I snorted at the idea of my dad making anything related to By and me easier. “No, honestly. I know what you’re thinking, but trust me. Once your dad sees Byron—sees the two of you together—this will become a reality for him, and he’ll stop being…” 

“A pain in my butt?” I finished for her. Carol crinkled her nose. I have to admit it wasn’t really a fair assessment, because my dad wasn’t being _that_ obnoxious. Distant, yes…stubborn, definitely…but obnoxious? “I hope you’re right,” I continued before Carol could chide me for being rude. “I’ve been really trying this year, and if I have to live here for another year while I finish up at PCC, then I want things to go smoothly.” 

“You have been trying very hard,” she acknowledged. “Don’t think that's gone unnoticed.” 

Remember how I said that I had an even more pressing concern than Byron that morning? Well, she entered at that moment in a halo of golden hair, looking every inch the hippie she’d been for the past so many years. Dawn had been pretty normal growing up, until she was about fifteen. That’s when she starting dressing like it was the summer of love all over again and experimenting in many different ways. What I’ve never understood about Dawn is how in Dad’s eyes she’s super angelic. She smoked as much pot in high school as I did and she used to sneak out at night to meet her friends in the park. Yet she got grounded once a year while I was lucky to go a full month without being put on restriction. These days, Dad seemed to think that Dawn could do no wrong. 

“Jeff!” she cried. Before Dawn went to Peru and spent a year forgetting she had a family, she used to come home about once a semester (twice if she ran out of money.) But this year she’d come home about once a month. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. “It’s a gorgeous day. Want to take a walk with me?” 

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Going for walks’ was something wholesome, good kids did. I’d never considered either one of us to be particularly wholesome. “Why?” I asked suspiciously. 

“I don’t usually get to spend too much time with you. I thought maybe we could talk.” 

I shrugged. Grow up with a girl and you learn her quirks pretty quickly. One thing I discovered about Dawn was that if she wanted to spend time with me, there was always an ulterior motive. Sometimes, I don’t even think _she_ realized it, and most of the motives were benign: she was bored or lonely or even scared. But something today told me to be a little more wary. “Um, okay.” 

We weren’t even out of the driveway yet when she started talking. “So, Byron’s coming next weekend. Nervous?” 

It was a really warm, sunny day for March (even for Southern California) and I squinted at her. I’d left my sunglasses in the house. “A little. But I think everyone else is way more nervous than I am. Dad doesn’t seem to believe that By’s actually going to show up, and Carol keeps planning and re-planning food for the week, worried that he won’t like her or the meals.” 

Dawn squinted back at me for a moment, then pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her purse. I silently cursed her for being better prepared than I was. “And if Byron’s anything like he was back when he was ten, he’s probably scared out of his mind about this. I remember he was all kinds of jumpy at Mom’s house last summer, and he already knew almost everyone sitting at that table.” 

She had a good point. I’d asked By about it earlier in the week. Although he claimed he was calm and collected, the pitch of his voice rose as he’d said it. He has about twenty ‘tells’ that let you know when he’s not telling the truth, but only five or so you can catch over the phone. That’s the biggest one. “Yeah, I’d say ‘scared out his mind’ about covers it.” 

She smiled briefly. “Where does he go to school again?” 

We turned a corner and we were in shade. I breathed a sigh of relief but I didn’t unsquint my eyes yet, because I knew it would hurt. “Duke.” Dawn gestured for me to go on. “It’s in Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina.” 

“North Carolina. That’s a long way from home.” 

I finally opened my eyes the correct way. “Byron says that each Pike who applies to college ends up going a little farther from home. Mal’s in New York, Adam’s in Ohio, By’s in NC, and Jordan’s actually in Florida.” I stopped at the end of the block and waited for Dawn to decide which way we were going. I was relieved when she turned the corner and we stayed in the shade. “Claire will probably end up in Africa.” 

It was Dawn’s turn to raise her eyebrows. She started to speak and then shook her head. “What is Byron studying?” 

My luck was running out as the trees ended a short distance later and we were back in the sun. “Engineering…sort of.” Dawn raised her eyebrows. “He was in the engineering program last semester. This semester he’s gone back to being ‘undeclared.’ He’s actually looking to change schools for the fall; he applied to three places. He didn’t tell me what he’s going to study, other than he’s sure it’s his real calling in life.” 

Dawn’s face turned dark for a second. “Must be nice to know what your life’s calling is when you’re not even nineteen,” she commented. I nodded, sort of understanding what she meant. I mean, Dawn was graduating in two months with a BA in Spanish. What do you do with that, exactly? Work in a bilingual office? Sounds thrilling. “What do you plan to do when you get out of college, Jeff?” 

“Teach middle school,” I answered certainly. “Sixth or maybe seventh grade.” 

“Really?” She sounded surprised, which I found odd because she _knew_ I was getting a teaching degree. “Middle school,” she repeated, and I understood where her head was. “The kids that age are such smart alecks. They’re rude, some of them don’t shower very often, and they’re so awkward and in between.” 

“I know,” I said with a grin. “That’s exactly why I like them. They’re old enough that you’re teaching them something that really matters, but young enough that they’re not too jaded yet and still want to please you.” 

Dawn shook her head. “You were a little shithead when you were in middle school,” she said. “And in some ways, you still are. I can see why you’d want to do that. You can understand and relate to them.” 

I watched her closely through slitted eyes. “And what are _you_ going to do when _you_ get out of school?” I asked, knowing that was the real point of the conversation. 

Dawn was evasive. “I don’t know,” she said, but I had a feeling it wasn’t the whole truth. “I just don’t know.” 

*** 

The next six days flew by like they were five minutes. Before I knew it, I was impatiently—and nervously—waiting outside baggage claim for Byron. Gracie had wanted to come with me, but his flight came in after her bed time. I’d promised her that if she managed to stay awake until I left for the airport, she could go. Carol had pursed her lips unhappily when I’d made that promise, but she figured out what was going on later that evening. I put Gracie, still protesting she would make it even as she was 90 percent asleep, in her bed, and headed off. 

When By arrived, I almost missed him. I had spent ten minutes watching the path from arrivals before I got distracted. I’d started to worry that maybe his plane wasn’t on time, so I was checking the electronic board of flights when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I had just located the flight from Raleigh, which had arrived on time, so I didn’t instantly look up. It wasn’t until I heard a soft, cautious, “Jeff?” that I actually turned around. 

I don’t know what I was expecting. It had been more than six months, and it’s not as if time stands still for other people because I’m not there. But somehow, I didn’t think there would be quite that much of a change. Byron looked taller, although I don’t think he’d actually grown more than a smidge since last August. Instead, I think he was just standing up straighter than I was used to seeing him. The triplets have skinny, lanky frames, and even Jordan the star baseball player didn’t appear to be very muscular, but By had filled out quite a bit. He’d mentioned spending time working off his worries at the gym, but I hadn’t thought he’d meant that much time. 

That wasn’t what really shocked me, though. If he hadn’t spoken my name, I might have thought he was someone else. Not a complete stranger, mind you, but one of his brothers. The way he carried himself right at that moment reminded me of Jordan, but my first instinct would have been to say Adam. “Oh, my God,” I said slowly as he took the last couple tiny steps toward me. Byron had been smiling confidently as he approached, ready for a hug, but now he stopped in his tracks. “What happened to your hair?” 

By ducked his head and ran his hand across the back of his neck, and suddenly he was the same guy he’d been when I’d seen him last. I crossed the distance between us in one step and gave him the hug that he—and I—had been craving. “I was ready for a change,” he muttered into my neck. 

I loosened my grip and looked at him closely. Instinctively I reached up to where hair had hung in his eyes in the past. His hair was actually longer than Adam’s still, but much shorter than it had been. The bangs that had hung in his eyes were gone, and the locks that had curled around his neck and down to his shoulder blades were now missing. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” I told him. 

“It’s just hair, Jeff,” Byron said, a combination of irritated and bashful. I realized that I must not have been the first one to comment on the hair; it was obviously a sore spot for him. I pulled him back into the hug and he wrapped his arms tightly around me. When we finally stopped embracing, he pulled the backpack off his shoulder and reached into the smallest pocket in the back. “Before we get my bag, I have something I want to show you.” He pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to me without further comment. 

I took the sheet, which was crumpled from having been folded and refolded many times. It was actually a legal-sized piece of paper and as I unfolded it, the first thing I saw was a very familiar logo. I skimmed the letter, addressed to By at his North Carolina address, for a moment before I looked back up at him. “What is this?” 

He watched me closely and spoke evenly. “I told you I was changing schools.” 

I started folding the paper back up, then quit and just handed it back. “To the University of California Berkeley?” 

I had expected him to take the paper and finish folding it back up to its former state. It’s a very typical move for him, because it means he gets to break eye contact. Instead, he accepted it without looking at it, his eyes never leaving me. “It’s a great school, Jeff. Their program is one of the best in the country. It’s almost as good as an Ivy League degree, at a fraction of the cost. Plus, San Francisco’s a little more…open minded…than North Carolina is.” By reached out the hand that didn’t include his acceptance letter and put it on my arm. “I thought you’d be happy about this. I mean, we’ll be in the same state.” 

I wrinkled my brow. “I have to ask first. You didn’t decide to come out to California just because of me, did you?” As much as I liked the idea of being nearer to him—if he was in Berkeley, he was a six hour drive away instead of a six hour plane flight—I didn’t want to accept the responsibility of every element of his happiness. If he changed coasts to be near me, and things didn’t work out, then it was my fault. 

He smiled fully and pulled me back toward him. “If I were going to do that, I’d have applied to UCLA, or wherever. It’s not like I’m going to be living in your backyard. It did make a difference, but if my favorite school was in Alabama or Michigan or Italy, I would have gone there instead. Berkeley is calling me, and I have to answer.” 

This was a new side of him. Byron was usually indecisive; he required ‘evidence’ and a lot of analysis before he made up his mind. Haley had told me that he’d applied to something like twelve schools the first time around and took a full six weeks after he’d been accepted to all twelve to decide where he wanted to go. But it was more than the certainty behind his decision; he seemed to be going more on gut feeling and hopes and wishes than anything else. I gave him a kiss and then squeezed his hand. “Then I’m happy things worked out the way they did. You can come down to Palo City for Thanksgiving and I can go up there for spring break.” 

We found his suitcase and headed back to my car. But when we exited the building, Byron stopped and looked around. He was staring, taking in the palm trees and everything else. I laughed. “You’ve never been to LA before, have you?” 

He shook his head. “No. I have the feeling I’m not in Kansas anymore…not that I ever was.” 

*** 

The ride back to Dad’s house was extremely pleasant. Byron continued staring at the scenery for the first ten minutes or so, but then he turned back to me and watched me quietly for a while. “Everything okay?” I finally asked. 

He nodded. It was dark outside, but the highways are so well lit that I clearly saw the movement. “I’m just a little nervous,” he admitted. I checked for signs of evasion, but found none. “What’s your family like? Give me a little preview so that I can be prepared.” 

I thought about that a moment. “Well, Carol’s enthusiastic. She tries too hard, you know?” He nodded again. “She’s really keen to impress you. Just let me know if she gets to be too much. I’ll talk to her and she’ll settle down. 

“My dad’s a harder nut to crack, but I don’t think _you_ have to worry about him. Basically, all he asks for is respect. Parents always love you, so if you talk to him the same way you talk to my mom and Richard, there won’t be a problem.” 

I took a pause as I changed lanes. “And Gracie? Well, she’s seven and a motor mouth. Do you need any more details than that?” 

By chuckled. “No, no. I feel like I understand kids much better than I understand parents.” 

“That’s interesting,” I thought out loud. “Like I said, Mom and Richard love you. Mom’s already said you’re invited to every family dinner any time the two of us are in Stoneybrook. And Hay says that her mom thinks you hung the moon. You know what Hay calls you behind your back?” 

“I’m almost afraid to hear the answer to that.” 

“Eddie Haskell. You know, from _Leave it to Beaver_? He’s always saying, ‘Gee whiz, Mrs. Cleaver, you look swell today,’ and then turning around and going, ‘Okay muthafuckas, let’s burn this place down!’ to Wally and the Beav.” 

Byron laughed. “I think I missed that episode.” I smiled; I’d been hoping that would make him relax a little. He turned to the window for a moment, but I knew the conversation wasn’t over. He was thinking over what I’d said. When he turned back around, he was serious but not as tense. “You really think they’ll like me?” 

I grinned. “Of course they will. They’ll love you, because I do.” He put one hand on my shoulder in a silent thank you. “Now that we have that settled, what do you want to do during your vacation?” 

*** 

We arrived at my house to find it quiet and mostly dark. Byron had turned quiet himself about halfway home, but I suspected he was mostly sleepy. He may have even nodded off at one point. I didn’t blame him; it was nearly 2 am his time. But when I let him know we were nearly in Palo City, I could feel him tense back up from across the front seat. He might have relaxed temporarily, but he was still nervous. 

“This is it,” I said as I opened the front door and ushered him into the living room. We set his bags down and Byron looked around, as if he expected to be ambushed by my entire family any second. But unless you can call Carol padding out of the kitchen in her bare feet an ambush, he didn’t have anything to worry about. “This is my stepmother, Carol Olson.” 

“You must be Byron,” she practically whispered. I thought it was a stupid comment; who else would he be? By nodded, tired and unsure how to proceed. Carol made it easy for him. “Are you hungry? We’ve got some banana bread that Mrs. Bruen made fresh this afternoon. I didn’t even tell anyone else about it, because I knew it would disappear.” 

“No, thank you.” Byron had finally found his voice. He must have been more tired than I thought, because he almost never turns down food. “I appreciate the offer, though.” 

“No problem, hon.” Carol had a mug of something in one hand. “Jeff’s dad went to bed already, so you’ll meet him in the morning. And Gracie is dying to talk with you, because you haven’t heard all of her jokes yet.” She laughed at her own ‘joke.’ “I bet you’d like to settle in for the night, wouldn’t you? Jeff, why don’t you show him where to go?” 

I stopped in my tracks. We hadn’t made a plan about where By was going to sleep. I can’t believe that in all of Carol’s careful strategizing, that never came up. “Umm,” I said, and Carol looked up from whatever she was sipping. “Where were you planning that he’d sleep?” 

She looked extremely surprised. “I thought you’d want him to stay with you in your room. I mean, he came all this way to spend time with you, I just assumed…” Carol faded out, and she was embarrassed now. “Was I wrong? I can make up the hideaway bed in Dawn’s room.” 

“No, no, no, that’s okay,” I answered for both of us before Byron could even respond. He was blushing at Carol’s insinuation of sex. “C’mon, By, let me show you to my room.” 

As soon as the door was shut, he sat down on my bed. “I could have stayed on the hideaway bed,” he said quickly and quietly. 

I sat down beside him and leaned my head on his, barely touching him. “If my parents are okay with the two of us sharing a room, of course I’m going to take advantage of that. Think of it: this is the first time the two of us have spent the whole night together in the same bed without getting in trouble for it since we were in Maine.” 

Byron snuggled in a little closer, putting his head on my shoulder. “Okay,” he said, conceding the point I don’t think he really even wanted to argue. He stood back up and opened his suitcase, finding his toiletry bag. “Show me to the bathroom.” 

I did just that, and handed him a towel in case he wanted to shower now. I went back to my room to change for bed, but stopped and thought. How much clothing should I wear? Normally I sleep in pajama bottoms and nothing else, not even my boxers, but with it being so warm, I was tempted to wear less. I could sleep in my boxers alone, or completely naked… 

I was overthinking things again. I decided to wait and see what Byron put on and wear the equivalent. I didn’t want him thinking I was expecting anything. The two of us had agreed earlier in the school year that when it came to sex, what happened, happened. We had no schedules or timetables. We weren’t going to worry about what his brothers were (or in Jordan’s case, weren’t) doing. I had the feeling that for By, the words were easy to say but following through would be tougher, at least on the last part. When we’d first started dating, I’d been afraid that he’d be slow as molasses in warming up to sex, but he’d come a long way in a short time. I now teased him that once he got started, he’d come along faster than either of his brothers. 

He came back a few minutes later as I was still contemplating my attire, his face freshly scrubbed and his teeth polished. By bent over his suitcase, watching me out of the corner of his eye as I pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms. We both changed quickly and headed to the bed, but By paused. My bed is pushed up against the wall and you can only enter it from one side. Neither one of us was sure who was sleeping where. 

After a moment’s pause, I climbed into the bed next to the wall and patted the blanket next to me. Byron lay down on the other side of the bed, his head on the pillow and his eyes already halfway closed. “Good night,” I said to him, although I was feeling too keyed up to sleep. He smiled drowsily, rolled over and pulled the blanket up over himself. 

I snuggled under the blanket a short distance away, on the other pillow. After a moment’s pause, I found his waist and clasped my hands in front of his stomach. He sighed deeply and said, half mumbled, “Closer.” I obeyed quickly, shuffling under the blanket until my arms were fully wrapped around his chest and I was pressed against his back. My face was in his hair, which was more prickly than I was used to it being, but I got past that. Byron sighed again and muttered, “That’s better.” 

I smiled. I had to agree with him on that one. 

*** 

We slept in pretty late the next morning, but weekends are sort of relaxed at our house. When I finally blinked the sleep from my eyes and glanced at the clock, I couldn’t believe how late it was. It wasn’t that I was shocked that I’d slept that late, or that Dad and Carol had let me sleep that late. Mostly I was surprised that Gracie hadn’t come running in, pouncing on us in our sleep. She’d probably been up for several hours and she’s not exactly known for patience. 

By was already awake when I stirred, but he was sitting up in bed with a psychology textbook in his lap. “Morning,” he said quietly, but he was smiling. I sat up and he capped his highlighter. At first I wondered if he started every Saturday morning by doing his class reading, but I quickly realized he hadn’t wanted to brave my family without me. “Sleep well?” 

“The best sleep ever.” Byron grinned and put his head on my shoulder. “Have you been hiding in here all morning?” 

“I’ve only been up for about half an hour. I went to the bathroom earlier, but I came right back in afterward,” he confirmed. “It sounds like Carol broke out that banana bread this morning. I hope there’s some left when we make it out among the living.” 

I leaned in for a kiss and discovered he had already brushed his teeth. “Let’s get out there quickly and find out. Need to shower?” 

Twenty minutes later we were all showered and dressed. I discovered how easy Byron’s morning routine was: shower, brush teeth, dry his dramatically-shortened hair, put on deodorant and he was ready to go. I was a little more high-maintenance: on days when I was feeling good, I spent more time just fixing my hair than he did in the bathroom altogether. 

When we made it into the kitchen, Dad was reading the paper and Carol was leaning on a windowsill with a cup of coffee. (She wasn’t spying on the neighbors or anything like that. Sometimes, she spends a few minutes just watching the clouds or the birds or something, like she’s in a dreamland.) Dad heard us approach and stood up, putting aside his paper. “Well, hello,” he greeted Byron. Dad held out his hand and By took it, shaking it as if he did such things every day. “Jack Schafer.” 

“Byron Pike. It’s very nice to meet you.” Carol had shaken herself out of her reverie and turned to watch the action going on in the room. “You have a lovely home,” By added, addressing both Dad and Carol this time. 

Dad smiled; he was obviously charmed by how sincere and honest By sounded in his compliments. He obviously wasn’t Eddie Haskell, who was smarmy and fake when he spoke to Ward and June. “Any friend of Jeff’s is a friend of mine.” 

I glanced over at Carol, who’d crinkled up her forehead slightly. Her eyes met mine and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. _Friend_? By either didn’t notice or didn’t attach the same significance to it as we did. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you all,” he said eagerly. 

Carol changed the subject because she was worried that I’d run my mouth if she didn’t. “Well, you boys missed breakfast, but don’t worry—I saved you each a piece of banana bread.” She gestured vaguely to the countertop. “We’ll be eating lunch in about forty-five minutes. Will you be joining us?” I nodded. “Great! If you’d like, you can have the bread to hold you over until lunch.” 

I grabbed two plates and we smeared the banana bread with cream cheese. The two of us ate standing at the counter. As we were finishing up, Dad put his paper aside again. “What are your plans for today?” 

By and I had made plans for the first half of his visit. He needed to head up to Berkeley to figure out where he was going to live. We’d decided to leave Monday morning and come home Tuesday evening. But first I’d convinced him to spend the weekend being crazy tourists. “I’m going to show him the sights around town. He’s never been to LA before.” 

By washed down his bread with a glass of juice Carol had offered him. “I’ve actually never been west of the Rockies.” 

Carol smiled. “I’ve lived here all my life and I still haven’t seen everything there is to see. Which sights are you most interested in?” 

He shrugged. “I told Jeff to show me his favorite things, so I can see the town the way he sees it.” 

I grinned at him. I just loved the way it sounded when he said that. Dad looked from me to Byron, one eyebrow slightly quirked. “Anyway, don’t expect us for dinner. We’ll be back kind of late tonight.” Dad went back to his paper, but he was watching us out of the corner of his eye. 

By and I finished our banana bread without any further commentary. At first I was glad that Dad hadn’t made any rude remarks, but then I realized that the whole house was just _too_ quiet. I looked around for a moment. “Where’s Grace?” I finally asked. 

Carol chuckled. “Finally noticed something was missing, huh? She went over to Mackenzie’s for the morning. She should be back soon, so you two better both be prepared for the onslaught.” 

Byron waved that away. “I’ve got three little sisters. I’m sure I can handle it.” 

He had just volunteered to set the table for lunch when the front door opened and a small but large voice boomed, “Is he here? Is he here?” 

Gracie came running into the kitchen. She’d kicked off one of her sneakers and the other was untied, like she’d started taking them off and then suddenly realized what was waiting for her. She skidded to a stop and stared. Byron turned around from the table, where he was laying out glasses, and smiled at her. “Hi,” he said brightly. 

For the first time since she learned to talk, Gracie was speechless. I watched her as she stood there, her mouth hanging open. By’s expression became serious and concerned, but only for a moment. “I’ve seen your picture,” Grace finally stammered. 

Dad and Carol laughed. By smiled. “I’ve seen your picture, too. You’re Grace, right?” 

“My name is Elizabeth Grace Schafer Olson,” she replied grandly. Grace only uses her full name when she’s trying to be important; the rest of the time she complains it’s too many letters. “But you can call me Gracie.” 

“And you can call me By. That’s what my friends call me.” 

Gracie beamed. “You should sit next to me at lunch,” she announced. 

*** 

That’s all it took for Byron to conquer my family. He was a lot more relaxed and confident after lunch, as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders. I took him to see the traditional Hollywood sights: the Chinese theater and all the handprints. We drove around town for a while until the sun went down and then he took pictures of the Hollywood sign so he could send it to Hay and make her jealous. 

Sunday I’d planned to bring out the guide books and let him pick where to go, but Gracie kind of beat me to the punch. We were sitting at the table eating breakfast when she suggested that he needed to go to Disneyland. “You two can take me,” she insisted. 

“Byron doesn’t want to go to Disney,” I replied witheringly. Carol has a season pass for the family and it’s fairly cheap to add people on, so she usually takes Grace about every other weekend, usually with a friend or two. I was so sick of that place that if I never saw it again, I would be perfectly okay with that. “Right, By?” He didn’t answer, but his eyes did light up. I stifled a sigh because I knew what that meant: I was definitely outnumbered. We spent the day at Disneyland after all. 

I was less worried about our daytime activities, which had By animated and smiling, than our nighttime ones. I’d imagined what our visit would be like since November when Haley and I schemed the idea up in the first placed. I’d dreamed of sneaking him into my room at night for a little (quiet) fun, but that barrier had been removed. Yet there was no fun, quiet or otherwise. We got into my bed at night, kissed a little and then fell asleep, my arms around him. I hadn’t expected him to ravish me or anything, but it was all a little underwhelming. 

We left fairly early Monday morning. I drove with the radio turned down low while By snoozed in the passenger seat. He isn’t a morning person and wasn’t much for conversation until he was actually awake. Two hours later, however, he started talking and he didn’t stop for most of the trip. He made Gracie look quiet. I smiled and let him babble because I knew it meant he was excited. He had a whole folder of brochures and papers he’d printed off the internet. Some of it was about the history of the school or the town itself; others were rooms for rent or people looking for roommates. “Just trying to find housing might take all day,” he predicted as we crossed into Berkeley for the first time. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong, though. The first apartment, simply listed as ‘Roomie wanted, just off campus UCB. Must be open-minded,’ turned out to be exactly what he was looking for. It was a four bedroom apartment with four other guys. Two were a couple who had been together ‘forever’, a third was a female-to-male transgender who was in mid-transition, and the fourth was covered in piercings and tattoos and preached at a ‘Jesus-loves-everyone-no-matter-what’ style church. The four of them greeted us like old friends and started talking about compatibility issues. Everyone agreed on the spot that this was going to work out, so By went down the street to sign paperwork with the landlord before we left. 

I waited out by the car while he was gone with his future roommates. I marveled at the differences between the group. If I didn’t know Byron well, you might think he was ultra-conservative, based upon the way he dresses and his quiet nature—especially now that he’d cut off the long hair. He didn’t appear that he’d fit in with this group, but here he was. They hadn’t asked about his sexual preference or anything of the sort. It turns out that they were really just looking for any quiet, clean-ish roommate who wasn’t going to judge them. And that was exactly what he wanted as well. 

We found a cheap place to eat lunch and spent the afternoon exploring the campus. The longer we were there, the happier Byron got. I was glad to see him so enthusiastic and upbeat, especially because he’d been so down when he’d first gone off to college. I imagined that he’d had a specific vision of what college was supposed to be like, and life had let him down, as it does so often. The difference here was that By thought that since the disappointment was based upon his own choices, it was his own fault. And he’s much harder on himself than on anyone else. 

After a dinner of tamales eaten on a street corner, we checked into a motel for the night. When I’d explained to Carol why we were heading up to Berkeley, she’d been surprised but pleased. She’d handed me some money to cover expenses. I’d figured that it would cover two tanks of gas and a night at a motel, depending on the rates. The place we ended up staying at was pretty gross looking and had ‘magic fingers’ on the beds, but we resigned ourselves to it, with the knowledge it was only for one night. 

It was too early to go to sleep when we got inside the hotel, but I didn’t have to worry about it. I went to use the restroom and heard the television go on. I stood in the doorway to the bathroom, viewing the screen. “Whatcha watchin’?” I asked. 

By didn’t answer that. Instead, he leapt off the bed and, in two steps, met me where I stood. He kissed me before I knew what was going on, the sort of move I pull on him all the time. Believe me, I wasn’t complaining. I dragged him over to the wall and leaned against him, both of us putting our weight on the wall. He made a happy little sigh and then, hello! His hands were in my pants. 

“Oh, thank God,” I murmured as I leaned over to kiss his neck. Byron stopped what he was doing and gave me a questioning glance. “I just mean that we haven’t done this since you got here. I was afraid you weren’t into me anymore.” 

He chuckled. “Jeff, your parents sleep right on the other side of the wall from your bedroom. Hard to get terribly horny when you know they could be listening in.” 

I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but I nodded my understanding. By wiggled his way out from between me and the wall and stood before me. Last spring and summer, he’d dressed in jeans and solid-colored t-shirts under coordinated button-down shirts, usually undone. He’d changed his attire somewhat in the past year. Now he wore wife-beaters under buttoned shirts, always with understated designs: tiny stripes or delicate plaids. It was an older, more mature version of how he’d always dressed. 

He began to undo the buttons on his shirt, but I stopped him. “Let me,” I said. I took my time, slowly dragging the baby-blue and white plaid away from his skin, letting my fingers caress as I went. I tossed the shirt on the floor and pulled him onto the bed. By managed to slide my shirt off me as well, and I coaxed his undershirt off him. When we pulled close together, I realized how much more firm his body was now, how much more muscular, and I told myself that I really needed to hit the gym more often. 

We continued at that pace for a while, our hands staying above the waist. I quickly realized that this wasn’t shyness or uncertainty on his part; it was more about seeing how far we could go. If we stretched things out, the eventual result would mean more. 

Eventually I couldn’t help myself. I reached into his boxers, stroking him gently, just a little. He moaned into my ear and although I didn’t stop, I started wondering. I’d thought about sex for the first time when I was maybe twelve or thirteen, but I’d always pictured it with a woman. All of my firsts had been with girls: first kiss, first blow job, and so on. I’d lost my virginity to a girl (a whacked-out, crazy girl, but a girl nonetheless). It wasn’t until Byron came along that I even considered kissing a boy…and that was less than a year ago. Yet here I was, seriously considering whether tonight was the night I would make love to a man. It’s not how I ever pictured my life going….but at the same time, being with By had made me happier than just about anything in recent memory. 

But By and I had decided not to make plans. I wasn’t going to get to take him to a romantic dinner and bring him back to a candlelit room like they did in the movies. He wanted it to be a natural, spontaneous thing when sex happened: a heat of the moment choice, brought about by love and happiness, not because we’d set a date and decided this was the night. It was funny if you thought about it, because he’s the one who had made the decision. Byron Pike, of the study schedules and carefully organized daily planner (I’d seen it the night before when he’d notated something in it), wanted to get swept up in the passion, while I, who reluctantly but honestly had to admit that I’d actually had sex without a condom once, was more willing to make a date because it gave all of this waiting an ending time. Maybe we’d both rubbed off on each other, in good ways. 

I shook off the idea of sex. If I was questioning whether it was right or not, then By couldn’t even be close to being ready, right? I might as well just enjoy our evening together for what it was, even if it was in a roach-infested rat hole of a motel. 

*** 

We’d perfected the art of sharing the bathroom over the past couple days. I hopped in the shower while he ate ‘breakfast’: a couple granola bars. When I was finished showering, he jumped in while I did my hair. 

I was trying to see the bathroom mirror through all the steam when he called out, “Hey, Jeff? I forgot my razor. It’s in the second-smallest pouch on the front of my backpack. Can you get it for me?” 

I left the steamy bathroom and ambled over to where he’d carefully set his bag a short time earlier when he’d pulled out his clothes and toiletries. There was one small pouch on the front of his bag—where he’d kept his acceptance letter to Berkeley a couple days earlier—and then two slightly larger pouches, side by side. They were exactly the same size, so I just picked one and opened it. I didn’t find a razor but I did find a small box of condoms. I picked them up and looked them over, raising my eyebrows. Maybe I’d underestimated By just a little the night before. I put the condoms back sadly. We might have missed our chance for now. And who knew what the summer would bring? I hoped we’d be able to find time to be alone, but given the rules at Richard’s house and the sheer number of Pikes, it would be difficult. 

The razor was in the other pocket. When I returned to the bathroom, By’s head was peeking out from the shower curtain, all slick and shiny. “Sorry. After you left I realized I should have told you the _right_ pocket. Have any trouble finding it?” 

I kissed his wet lips. “None at all.” 

After he’d finished in the shower, we took one last tour of the town by car. By had accomplished everything he’d hoped to during our trip, so he said we might as well head back to L.A. “You know what?” he said as we got back on the highway. He was looking longingly back toward Berkeley, one hand on the car window, while he addressed me. “I don’t think I’ve thought this out. I applied to this school six months ago because it was like a dream come true, but I’ve never stopped to consider logistics. Like how I’m going to haul all my stuff across the country when I don’t even have a car of my own.” 

I chuckled. “You pulled a Jeff,” I said sagely. Byron pulled away from the window and threw me a questioning glance. “You followed your heart without stopping to think about all the consequences. Don’t worry. Everything will work itself out, I promise you. It always has for me.” 

We ate dinner Tuesday night with Dad, Carol and Gracie. We’d only been gone about thirty-six hours, but Gracie greeted us like hadn’t seen us in years. In the short period before dinner was ready, she dragged the two of us each by one hand to look at her frogs. “Can I introduce them to you?” she asked Byron, who nodded seriously. Gracie pointed to each frog in turn and stated their highly-original names. “That’s Jeff. This one is Dawn. We call that one Froggy, this one Frogger, and Frog #1 and Frog #3.” 

“What happened to Frog #2?” 

He had no idea that he’d just set her up for her favorite punch line of all time. “He croaked!” she crowed. I shook my head at the horrible joke. “We had a funeral and then Mommy flushed him down the toilet.” 

Byron looked at the last frog Grace had named. “I feel kinda sorry for Frog #3,” he said, his eyes fixed on the amphibian. I’m not even sure he realized that he’d spoken out loud. “It’s not just that he’s not good enough to have his own name; he has to be the third. The last. The least.” 

Gracie hadn’t understood where he was coming from with his musings, but she’d caught the first part of the sentiment. “I know! Let’s give him a real name. We can call him Byron!” 

By was still making eye contact with the frog, which had to be one of the world’s least sentient beings. It stared back with unseeing eyes. “It’s appropriate,” he muttered darkly. 

Gracie didn’t hear that because at the same general moment, Mrs. Bruen called us for dinner. She always eats with us on Tuesdays and then she’s off on Wednesday. (Carol generally orders takeout on those days so that she doesn’t start a fire in the kitchen or something.) In any case, Grace scampered off because we were having veggie burgers and she wanted first choice on the patties. By moved to follow her but I grabbed his arm. “Hey. Is that how you see yourself? As the last and the least?” 

He shook his head. “Forget it. I was just having a moment.” 

I didn’t let go of his arm. “I won’t forget it. I don’t understand why your brothers—and you especially—have to go comparing yourselves to each other all the time. That can’t be all together healthy. But even if you must compare, why would you ever think you were the least? You were second in your class in high school and have a 4.0 GPA. Neither one of your brothers can say that.” 

“Jordan’s creeping up on me,” he admitted. I raised my eyebrows, both at the statement and the absolute frustration that accompanied it. It was like he’d staked his whole life on this one thing—being the best student among his brothers—and Jordan was coming up to steal it away. It occurred to me that probably eighty percent of the reason he got so into academics and studying was that it was something that neither one of his brothers was really interested in, so he could be the ‘best’ at it. 

“Listen, By,” I said quietly. I sat down on Gracie’s unmade bed and pulled him down with me. He didn’t give me any argument. “You know you have a lot more going for you than just good grades. You’re one of the most sensitive, thoughtful people I know. You truly care about people. Can you really picture Adam or Jordan humoring Grace enough to come in and ‘meet’ her frogs?” 

He chuckled, although I wasn’t sure I’d completely wiped away his gloom. “Gracie’s easy to like and get along with,” he commented, pretty much missing the point. 

“Yeah, but only because you actually cared enough to try to like and get along with her. Most of my friends find her pesty and annoying. None of the girls I ever dated would have agreed to take Gracie along _anywhere_ we went, never mind go to Disney simply because she suggested it.” I was still holding his arm but now I let him go and just watched him. 

“It’s hard for you to understand, Jeff,” Byron said, less upset now but more matter-of-fact. “People have always compared me to my brothers. I do it because it’s second nature. It’s hard for people not to compare us, after all. We’re the same age, the same gender, everything. Adam’s always been the leader, the most social. Jordan started trying so hard at Little League because he wanted his own ‘thing’ and he knew I couldn’t outshine him. I spent years just being the ‘third triplet’. One of the guys I went to high school with seriously just called me ‘Adam and Jordan’s brother’ for a couple years.” 

“Yeah, but By, do your friends at Duke call you ‘the third triplet’ or ‘Adam and Jordan’s brother’?” I put my hand on his shoulder, a more gentle touch this time. “Do I call you those things?” 

He shook his head. “No,” he admitted. 

“Here’s the point I’m trying to make. You have a lot of ways people can identify you. Yeah, you’re Adam and Jordan’s brother, but you’re also Haley and Paul’s friend, and my personal favorite: Jeff’s boyfriend.” 

Byron finally smiled. “I like that one too.” 

“Great! Think about that some more, but let’s go eat.” 

*** 

By was quieter at dinner that night that my parents were used to seeing him. He answered questions, but he didn’t start conversations or volunteer more than was asked. I saw Carol and Dad exchange looks, but neither one of them said anything about it. 

When we went to bed that night, he turned to me as I was undressing. “Thanks, Jeff.” 

“For what?” 

“For what you said earlier. I know you think you didn’t get through, but you did.” He was wearing his boxers only by then, and he pulled them off. I was surprised because he’d slept in his boxers and a t-shirt every other night we’d been in my room. “I can’t promise that I won’t have any more moments like that, but I’ll try to remember that I’m more than just a Pike triplet whenever I feel like I’m in last place.” 

I stripped off my own clothes, wanting to sleep with my skin directly against his. “You said I don’t understand, but I do. I still have moments when I compare myself to Dawn. She can do no wrong in this house, you know, and sometimes I feel like I can do no right. But if I start to feel down about it, I remember a few things. She’s never held a job for more than a couple weeks, but I managed to turn a temp job into steady work. She doesn’t have any idea what she wants to do with her life, while I do.” I pulled back the blanket and we climbed in together. We lay on our sides, facing each other. I stroked his forehead. “And she’s single, while I have the best boyfriend on earth.” 

He pulled his arm around my back and wrapped his legs around mine so we were practically on top of each other. We just looked at each other for a while before I kissed him. We lay like that silently, just kissing and touching, for almost an hour before I finally told him goodnight. He rolled over and I wrapped the blanket around us both. Before he fell asleep, he said one last thing. “You don’t have the best boyfriend on earth,” he whispered drowsily. “I do.” 

*** 

I awoke first the next morning. I sat up in bed to find By curled up in a fetal position, almost on his stomach rather than his side. He looked so young and innocent that way, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d had this thumb in his mouth. (When we were kids, Adam had once told me that Byron sucked his thumb in times of great stress until he was six or seven.) I’d drawn the blanket off him when I’d sat up and he was now exposed to the world. I covered him back up and he stirred, rolling over to face me. By smiled slightly and closed his eyes again, but he spoke. “What time is it?” 

I glanced at the clock. “Nine-thirty.” 

Byron’s eyes were still shut, and he was speaking more into his pillow than to me. “Awful quiet out there,” he mumbled. 

I chuckled. When we had gotten up Monday morning, Dad had been shouting because he couldn’t find his cell phone (Grace had been playing ‘phone call’ with it the night before). Carol was fussing at Gracie both because of the phone and because she’d forgotten to do her homework over the weekend. It had been noisy and chaotic and I think it was the first time he’d felt really at home in the house. “Well, there’s a good reason for that,” I told him. “We’re the only ones home. Even Mrs. Bruen isn’t here today.” 

“Really?” His eyes popped back open. “When will someone be back?” 

I leaned over him and smiled. “Why? What did you have in mind?” Before he could answer, I kissed him. Byron rolled over on his back and I straddled him, grinning devilishly. “Never mind. I think I have some ideas of my own.” 

We rolled over and he had his back to the wall. I wrapped my arms tightly around him and he put one hand in my hair, stroking it gently. We weren’t even kissing, just pressed together. He looked at me with wide, innocent eyes, trusting me implicitly. I’d never loved him more than I did at that moment. “I want you,” I murmured. 

He made a half, indulgent smile. “You have me,” he said, releasing one hand and gesturing to the bed as a whole. 

I couldn’t decide if he was joking, shying away from the idea of what I was suggesting, or really not getting it at all. “You know what I mean.” 

Byron withdrew his arms from around me and struggled to sit up. I had to back away a few feet before he managed to become upright, leaning against the wall. He had the look of a caged animal for a moment and it made me back further away. He pulled his knees up in front of him and I watched him take a few deep breaths, but he didn’t speak. I inched slowly back toward him and placed one hand tentatively on his knee, but I didn’t rush him. After a moment he turned to me, no longer quite as cornered and more in control. “I think I’m ready,” he said finally. 

All I could think was, really? Just the suggestion of the act and he pulled away like a frightened creature, but he thought that he was ready? “Are you sure?” I asked. I slid over so that I was side by side with him. “I was just saying what I felt in the moment. We don’t have to if you’re not certain.” 

He turned to the side so he could see me. “I’ve thought about it a lot,” he said in a voice closer to normal tone. “I find the idea of that much intimacy with anyone scary. But I’m really trying to face my fears these days, because I think it will make me a better person overall.” He paused, licking his lips, which were drier than normal, flushed red. “My parents and the school make sex out to be such a big deal that it changes you. And while I think that it’s a lot like the way they try to scare kids out of talking to strangers by telling them abduction stories, it’s got to have some element of truth to it. I mean, some kids actually _do_ get abducted by strangers with candy, right?” 

I eased my arm around his neck as I thought about what he said. His shoulders were surprisingly cool to my touch. “There’s two parts to sex. There’s the physical high of getting off, of course, and the emotional part. There’s a lot of different ways to feel, and none of them are wrong, but ultimately, sex is supposed to make you feel closer to someone else. I already feel closer to you than I ever have to anyone else, so everything else is just a bonus. We can wait until the summer, or even longer if you want.” 

Byron had been watching me seriously throughout all of that, and when I finished, he took my hand, which had been on his shoulder, in his and leaned over and kissed me. I thought that might be a thank-you-for-understanding kiss and that we’d be getting dressed in a moment, but he shuffled himself until he was facing me better. “I have condoms,” he said before kissing me again. 

I laid him down on the bed and sat beside him. “I know,” I acknowledged. 

We didn’t talk again for a while. 

*** 

As we’d continued on, I’d thought for a while that this morning wouldn’t be any different than any other time. We’d get to the point of no return and then change our minds. Part of me thinks that’s why By hadn’t wanted to set a timetable: so that he wasn’t locked in; he could still chicken out. 

But instead, we just relaxed and took our heads out of it, following our hearts. I’d set the condoms next to the bed, figuring they’d be there if we needed them. And when he did reach for them, it was just as he’d wanted, a natural extension of where we were, just the next logical step. 

When we were finished, I lay on my back, my eyes closed. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Suddenly I understood why some men fall right to sleep after sex. But despite the urge to roll over and snooze, I opened my eyes and found By lying on the other side of the bed. He was uncovered, lying on his stomach, knees bent, his lower legs up in the air, fidgeting. He kept switching which leg was on top. Byron was propped up on his elbows, his head tipped to one side. One hand covered his mouth and the other, his ear, so that all I could really see were his eyes, which were wide open, almost unblinking, and staring right at me. 

I propped my head up on both pillows so I could see—and reach—him better. I brushed at his hair. It was no longer long enough to hang in his eyes, but one lock had dropped down onto his forehead, and I pushed it aside. “How are you?” I asked him. 

He was quiet for a while, unmoving except those twitching legs. Finally he shifted his head slightly, removing the hand closer to me—the one covering his mouth. By put the hand briefly on his chest but then placed it on my arm. His fingers were cold, which surprised me given how sweaty he was. I clasped my spare hand around his, trying to warm it up. I repeated my question. “Are you okay?” 

Byron still didn’t answer right away. After about thirty seconds, as I was starting to get concerned, he squeezed my arm and smiled. “I’ve never been better,” he said hoarsely. I sat up further, continuing to watch his expression. Last year on July 4th—the first time we’d gone down on each other—he’d been overcome with emotion enough that he’d shed a few tears. I’d understood that. He’s a very emotional person to begin with, and then he’d had so many firsts in the past year: first kiss, first boyfriend, all the way on up through this morning. I wasn’t sure if he’d need a moment to sort out the emotion. 

Instead he sat up, and I realized he’d already done just that. That was why he’d been so silent. “What do you think of this level of intimacy now?” I teased gently. 

The small smile that had been playing on his lips grew larger. “Still frightening, but in a good way. There are two kinds of fear, you know. The bad kind, designed to keep us from doing things that are dangerous. That’s what prevents us from walking off cliffs or electrocuting ourselves.” I nodded, not sure where this was going. “The other type of fear is what makes life rewarding. When you overcome those fears, not only do you make yourself one step better, you make your world wider.” Byron was looking out into a corner of my room. I turned my vision there as well, but I saw nothing worth looking at. I realized that he was seeing something that wasn’t actually there: his future and, probably, my role in that. “You’ve made my world wider, Jeff.” 

And he’d made mine better focused. But I didn’t tell him that; instead, I just wrapped my arms around him and kissed his temple. I had plenty of time later to tell him all the reasons I loved him. We’d shared enough for now. 

The two of us sat quietly for a while before we went to find something to eat.


	2. Highs...and lows....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By and I were on top of the world. But I guess what goes up must come down...at least a little.

To: Byronp86  
From: Superjeff15  
Subject: spring break  
hey By, u just left but i needed to get this out before i forget or lose my words. i had the best time with u this past week. i had been looking forward to your visit but it was so much better than i ever imagined.  
im starting a countdown to summer. ten more weeks until were together again.  
love, jeff

Byron and I spent most of Wednesday lounging in bed. We didn’t even bother getting dressed until well after we’d eaten lunch, and that was just because I pointed out that someone might be home soon. 

When Carol brought Gracie home from Girl Scouts, By and I were watching a movie on the television in the living room. “What’re ya watching?” Gracie said as she came running into the room. “I wanna watch with you!” she announced before I could even answer. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Carol called from the kitchen. “You remember our talk from Monday. Homework first thing when you come home from school. Get your behind in here and get your work done.” 

Gracie shuffled off, her head hung low. We could hear Carol going over the instructions for Grace’s math assignment from the kitchen table, but then she wandered off to do a little extra emailing for work before dinner. By and I continued watching our movie in relative peace and quiet, same as we had before anyone had come home. 

Dad was home a little earlier than normal, shortly before the movie ended. Byron was sitting at one end of the couch, while I lay stretched out across the length, my head in his lap. I wasn’t tired after a day well spent doing nothing—at least, nothing I was going to tell my father about—but it was definitely the most comfortable position on that couch. Dad came in and put up his briefcase, calling to us without looking up. “What are you watching?” He sounded like Grace, only a lot less bubbly. 

“Clue,” I answered without moving. “Can you believe Byron’s never seen it before? I swear, he grew up deprived.” 

“Not everyone was raised with a movie-aholic mother like you were,” Dad cracked back. He turned to continue the joking, but then he took in the scene on the couch in front of him. Any good-natured jests died on his lips, but to his credit, he also didn’t say anything rude. He just looked so surprised that By squirmed a little. Had we been the other way around, he definitely would have sat up, but I didn’t budge. I wasn’t doing it to purposely make my father uncomfortable, but at the same time, I felt like I shouldn’t just stop being who I am to make him happy. We weren’t doing anything Dawn hadn’t done with a boy on that same couch in front of my parents. (We won’t discuss what I’d seen Dawn doing with a boy on the couch when my parents weren’t home.) 

Instead of addressing Dad’s shocked silence, I went on like everything was normal. “I keep trying to give him spoilers,” I told Dad. “But he keeps covering my mouth with his hand. So he has no idea that it’s really Colonel—” 

Byron, who seemed to either be extremely gullible to this type of thing or just enjoy the game, once again clamped his hand over my mouth. “Stop, Jeff,” he said firmly, but with a legitimate smile. “Honestly, remind me to never watch another mystery with you.” 

“The butler did it!” Gracie shrieked from the other room. 

I grinned up at By and he rolled his eyes fondly. “Must run in the family.” 

“Maybe we should see a mystery neither one of us has seen before,” I suggested. “I bet with all those books you read, you’d be really good at foreshadowing and solving the mystery in advance.” 

He shook his head. “I’m always surprised by the ending to mysteries. You want someone who can solve the crime in advance, you take Hay with you.” 

“Yeah,” I countered, “but she’s probably already seen it and will quote the whole movie to you before the scene even happens.” He grinned and we watched the movie quietly for a moment. “You know who else you should never take to a movie? Thomas’s fiancée, Diana. She just cannot shut up during movies; she talks about the action while it’s going on. Drives everyone crazy, almost literally.” 

We’d forgotten Dad was even there and he sat down in his favorite chair, almost still in a daze. “When do I get to meet these people?” Byron asked teasingly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were embarrassed of me.” 

“Never,” I countered with a grin, which By returned instantly. “Diana went to visit her grandparents for the first half of the week, so Thomas has been working doubles. But I think he should be free this weekend. I’ll call him later tonight and leave him a message.” 

We finished the movie and By was indeed surprised by the ending. Dad was still silent, but he relaxed enough to stop staring at us. “So, Mr. Schafer,” By said as I put the DVD away, “What was Jeff like as a little boy? Did he get into trouble a lot?” 

“Oh, brother,” I said from my seat on the floor in front of the television. “Here it comes.” 

Dad flicked his eyes over to me for a moment, but then he smiled. “Shall I get out the photo album?” he asked. I shook my head violently while Byron smirked. “Jeff has always had a knack for finding trouble. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s got a mouth on him.” 

“Jeff?” By repeated, feigning surprise. “Really?” 

“I know,” Dad continued, warming to the topic. “But he was also the cutest baby. He had this smile—we called it his stinker grin—and it got him out of trouble every time.” 

“That’s not the way I remember it,” I grumbled as I headed back to the couch. “I remember getting in trouble a _lot_.” 

“Maybe you should have used the stinker grin more,” Byron suggested as I eased my arm around him. I gave him a look, which just made him smirk some more before he turned back to Dad. “Any really embarrassing stories about Jeff that he wouldn’t want me to know?” 

Both Dad and I knew he was kidding, but that didn’t stop us from responding as if he were serious. “You mean like the time he ate an entire plate of cookies at a birthday party and then threw up on the guest of honor?” 

By doubled over laughing and I crossed my arms in front of my body in mock annoyance. If that was the worst thing my dad could come up with… “Just you wait until we get back to Connecticut,” I warned Byron through narrowed eyes. “We’ll see who has embarrassing stories to tell.” 

He winked. “You won’t find any dirt on me,” he proclaimed. 

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “Like you’re so innocent.” 

By just smiled. Dad watched quietly, but he seemed a lot calmer and more at ease than when he first sat down. Carol reappeared from her ‘office’—a table in her bedroom. “I’m thinking Indian for dinner tonight. Byron, does that sound okay to you?” 

He shrugged. “I like just about everything, but I’ve never had Indian before.” 

Carol smiled. “Well, why don’t you come with me and take a look at the menu? You can pick out what looks good in person.” By nodded and stood. “Jack, Jeff? The usual?” 

We both indicated our general consent. Grace appeared in the doorway. “Can I come too?” she asked. 

“Homework done?” Carol asked her in reply. “Really done, I mean, not just random answers scribbled on the paper?” Gracie turned defensive and put a hand on each hip but Carol cut her off before she could back-talk. “I’ll check your paper after dinner and you’re going to be in a whole world of hurt if you’re fibbing.” She grabbed her keys and purse and Byron and Gracie followed her out to the car. 

They’d barely left when Dad started talking. “You two seem really comfortable together,” he observed. 

“Yup,” I acknowledged. “We have known each other for half our lives.” 

Dad paused for a moment, using his sarcasm-sensor. “He seems to be a real improvement over the girls you’ve dated,” he continued. 

I thought over the girls Dad and Carol had met: the one who had no sense of boundaries and asked all kinds of personal questions, like how much money my parents made. The one who thought ass-cheek-baring shorts and a tube top were appropriate ‘meet the parents’ attire. The girl who shook during the entire car ride and didn’t say a single word because she was so worried about making a good impression. 

And then there was Risa, who was crazier than all the others combined. Compared to that bunch, anyone would look good, but Byron didn’t really need the help. I looked at him objectively through parent-style eyes. He was polite, well-dressed and respectful. He got good grades and had plans and goals. Who wouldn’t want that for their child? “I’m dating up,” I joked. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Dad said. “Don’t sell yourself short, Jeff. You’re hardworking and loyal. You’ve turned your life around this past year. You’re no longer the boy you were back when you were dating all those girls—drinking, trying drugs, skirting curfew and being openly defiant. You’re getting solid grades despite working full time. And you’ve learned how to voice your opinions without being rude and surly.” 

I nodded. Most of what he was saying was true; in fact, those were the things that I had said just the day before when Byron had been having his ‘moment’ of self-pity. “That’s all thanks to By,” I said firmly. “He showed me a whole different way of looking at things.” 

“No,” my father corrected. “You are responsible for your actions, not other people. He may have shown you another way of looking at things, but you chose to embrace that. It would have been easy for you to fall into bad habits when you came back here, with Byron being so far away, but you kept at it. I hope you know how proud I am of you.” 

I couldn’t think of the last time Dad had said that to me. Maybe when I’d made the winning basket in a seventh grade basketball game? “Thanks,” I said quietly, almost in a whisper. I’d spent the last six years or so feeling like the world’s biggest screw-up—probably because I was. I’d deserved most of the groundings and lectures and punishments I’d received through the years. I hadn’t done much to make him—or myself—proud. 

“I was thinking. As a celebration of what a man you’re turning into—and to thank Byron for his encouragement and everything else he’s done for you—Carol and I should treat you two to dinner tomorrow night. We’ll find Gracie a sitter or play date, so it will be adults only. We’ll go somewhere nice. Sound good to you?” 

I nodded again. “I’ll have to ask By, of course, but I’m sure he won’t want to turn down free food.” 

Dad smiled. “He does seem to have a healthy appetite, doesn’t he?” 

“You have no idea, Dad,” I chuckled. 

“I realize it must have been very difficult for you to, well, to come out.” Dad was fidgeting as he spoke, although much more subtly than Byron does. (His whole leg or hand will be moving, and often he doesn’t even realize it.) Dad was tapping one finger gently against his thigh. “To accept that you had feelings for another man and to start a romance with him in a society that isn’t always understanding.” 

Of all the accomplishments Dad had mentioned, that was probably the easiest thing I had ever done. Even though I’d had a debate internally over whether or not I was really attracted to Byron when I first saw him again after four years, my heart kept pushing my brain aside. I won’t say that that Sunday in April 2004 I knew my entire future just from one glance at a long haired, uncertain eighteen-year-old who couldn’t stop staring at me, but on some level it was sort of true. I knew by the end of that six hour car ride that I was going to kiss him at some point in that trip and that he was going to like it as much as I was. 

I didn’t say that to Dad, though. I’d never even said that to Byron, although at that point I suddenly knew I couldn’t let him leave to return to North Carolina without pushing those words through my mouth. They’d probably come out all wrong, like everything else I tried did at first, but I had to share anyway. “Thanks, Dad,” I repeated. 

“I’m going to go try to get reservations and line up a babysitter. And didn’t you say you had a phone call to make after the movie ended?” And Dad was back to business as usual, dismissing our heart-to-heart chat with a single reminder of my responsibilities. I waited until he disappeared from view before I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had a new photo for the background: Byron and I standing in front of his apartment building in Berkeley. I hoped it continued to make me smile as much as it did right at that moment. 

*** 

My affections were sorely tested just the next afternoon. Byron had been enthusiastic about the double-date (as Carol had called it) with my parents. It wasn’t so much the idea of a dress-up dinner that had him excited—he’d already, by noon, fretted that he’d trail his tie in his soup or drop his entire salad in his lap—but the fact that my dad had made an effort to connect with me. “I bet that means so much more to you than some fancy meal out,” he’d said the night before when we’d gotten ready for bed, and he’d been right. 

The two of us had eaten a light lunch with Mrs. Bruen before she set about changing the sheets and doing the laundry. Knowing we’d have no privacy, By and I had retreated to my bedroom and set the stereo playing. Byron had started fussing about his attire for the evening, because he hadn’t brought a jacket or sports coat to wear. “No problemo,” I said idly, lying on my bed. Mrs. Bruen hadn’t been through to change the sheets yet, but I’d stripped the blankets off in preparation for her coming in. “I’ve got a couple jackets, and one of them is bound to work with your clothes. Go ahead; you can just dig through my closet.” 

By opened my closet door and politely ignored the pile of detritus that fell out. “Aren’t you going to plan an outfit, too?” he asked. 

“Naw,” I replied as he started shuffling through my clothes, looking for the sports coats. “I’ll get ready about fifteen minutes before we have to leave.” 

Byron turned around and smiled. “Of course; what was I thinking?” 

He continued to paw through my hangers as I lay on my bed, my eyes closed. I was so relaxed at that moment that, despite a full night’s sleep, I could have just drifted off to sleep to the sounds of The Grateful Dead playing. Right as I was contemplating a nice long nap, my phone buzzed. “Hey,” I said to By, who was practically inside my closet among the mess by now. “Thomas just invited us to dinner with him and Diana on Saturday, out at this place down by his house. He was going to meet Kinsey and a couple other people there anyway, so you can get to meet all my friends at the same time. Sound good?” 

He didn’t answer the question and after a minute I opened my eyes again. Byron had disappeared inside the door and when he reappeared, I wasn’t sure he’d even heard what I had said. “What is this?” he asked, holding up a bottle of vodka. 

I sat up straight. I’d completely forgotten that bottle was in my closet; if I had to hazard a guess, I would say it was a couple years old. “Oh,” was all I said as I contemplated how to answer the question without sounding like a smartass. 

Unfortunately, By took the comment as either exactly the smartass remark I was trying to avoid, or possibly an admission of guilt. “I thought you said you stopped drinking,” he said. He was a lot more upset than I thought the circumstances warranted, and that made me defensive. 

“I _did_ quit drinking,” I insisted. It had been a lot harder than I’d expected, but By had been with me every step of the way, from the time I’d decided that I couldn’t just drink one drink until I pledged not to drink at all. It wasn’t just that By didn’t drink; Thomas had actually been in AA for a couple of years after having a problem in high school. I’d gone to a couple meetings with him but had decided the whole ‘12 step’ thing wasn’t for me. I didn’t have that kind of problem where I had an unending temptation for alcohol, and the whole ‘higher power’ element rubbed me the wrong way; I didn’t want someone else telling me what to believe. What had worked for me so far was not putting myself in positions where I would be tempted to drink. Having friends who were teetotalers—or who at least didn’t drink in my presence—made that a whole lot easier. 

Byron held the bottle up higher. “Then please explain why you have a half-empty bottle of vodka in your closet.” 

“I didn’t even know that was there.” 

He laughed a kind of hysterical half-laugh. “That’s the oldest line in the book,” he almost spat. 

I bristled at his tone. I really didn’t understand why he was so upset, or why he didn’t believe me. It’s like he can’t just disagree with me—he has to turn everything into an argument. “Okay, then,” I said sarcastically as he set the bottle on my dresser. “You’re the smart one. If you’re so sure that I’m still drinking, it must be true.” 

By threw up his hands. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, and you’ve got to be sarcastic and nasty.” 

That was actually kind of funny; I had to stifle a laugh that was just as crazed as his. “No, you’re trying to accuse me of things with almost no proof, and then you’re not listening to me when I give you a rational explanation. That’s not a conversation, it’s an inquisition.” 

For all his positive traits, Byron really is a stubborn son of a bitch sometimes. I’m sure it comes at least partly from being raised with two identical brothers with more forceful personalities than his own. He’d had to learn to dig his heels in and not just give in when dealing with his more extroverted brothers. There had been times when it had served me well—generally, if the two of us had different instincts, following him lead us to a calmer resolution. But it also made disagreeing about things extremely difficult. He just couldn’t seem to see the other side of things or that we weren’t arguing right and wrong but two different shades of right. A lot of times, I’d just backed off in order to end the conversation, and sometimes then brought it up again in a calmer fashion, showing him my rationale before he had a chance to realize what was going on. 

This was different, though. If I backed off and just said, ‘whatever’ about the vodka, then he’d think he was right and I just didn’t want to admit the truth. But I had the feeling I wouldn’t like where this would head if I didn’t back off. By did not take my inquisition comment well. He closed his mouth, his lips a thin, firm line, and looked down at the carpet. I’d hurt his feelings, but I hadn’t really said anything inaccurate. Part of me was really annoyed with him, while the other part just wanted to hug away that hurt. He swung me over to the first side with his next words. “I wouldn’t have to enact an inquisition if you weren’t _you_. You’re not exactly known for making good choices when left to your own devices.” 

I didn’t even answer that. I just whirled around and out the door, slamming it behind me. I left the house and got into my car and drove. I took the back roads around Palo City, looping around the sights of the town I’d lived my whole life, minus the time I’d spent in Stoneybrook. I thought back on that short time, when I was nine years old. I did a little math; I’d only lived there for nine months, but those nine months had made such an impact on my life. I’d made lifelong friends and even fallen in love, thanks to that awful little town. Even if I was a California boy, a little piece of my heart belonged to Connecticut, however reluctantly. 

I drove around for twenty minutes before I went home, almost reluctantly. There was only a short time before my ‘congratulatory’ dinner, and I didn’t want to leave things dangling. Byron can’t hide his emotions, and if he was upset with me during the meal, my parents would pick up on it right away. But I wasn’t ready to talk with him and smooth things over just yet, either. 

I found a happy medium when I walked in the house through the kitchen door. Mrs. Bruen was having a cup of herbal tea, sitting at the counter. She looked up and spoke to me briskly before I could even acknowledge her presence. “I didn’t make up your bed yet,” she started. “Your young man has been in there ever since you left, crying. I don’t know what’s going on—I heard angry voices but not the words—but I didn’t want to disturb him.” 

I went over to the counter, where Carol keeps the tea. I selected a mug and a peppermint tea bag and poured some hot water from the kettle. Mrs. Bruen never demands that I tell her what’s going on; she just gives me a factual statement of things as they stand, knowing I’ll spill my guts. She’s very good. “We had a fight,” I acknowledged. 

“I figured.” 

I took my steeping tea and sat down beside her. “He found something in my closet and he assumed I’d broken a promise to him.” I’d never told my parents or Mrs. Bruen about my problems with drinking. They all knew I drank from time to time, because I’d been busted for coming home sloshed a few times. I figured, however, that as long as I was able to keep from drinking, they didn’t really need to know about it. 

“And did you break that promise?” Mrs. Bruen asked. 

“No,” I insisted. 

“Did you tell him that, or did you get angry at him for assuming something that wasn’t true?” 

I sighed and replayed our conversation in my head. “I told him, but he didn’t believe me.” 

Mrs. Bruen took a small sip of tea. “And what did you do when he didn’t believe you?” 

I put my arms on the table and put my head on them, sideways, so I could still see her. I hadn’t touched my tea. “I got angry.” 

“And sarcastic?” 

“And sarcastic.” 

“Look, Jeff,” Mrs. Bruen said, kindly but with a no-nonsense tone. “If you’re going to be an adult you’re going to need to have adult conversations. Sarcasm has its place, but you’ll find pretty quickly that it doesn’t help diffuse angry or hurt feelings.” I sat up and was about to protest but she shut me down with a single hand movement. “I’m not saying this whole argument was your fault. It takes two to argue, and I’m sure your young man could have handled himself better as well. But you need to learn to defend yourself without sounding like a sullen teenager, even if you are a sullen teenager.” 

I actually smiled about that. I sipped my tea, which was still scalding hot and burned my tongue. “Okay.” 

Mrs. Bruen tousled my hair like she used to when I was little. “What would you say to Byron right now if he were sitting in my seat?” 

“That I’m sorry,” I said slowly, thinking out loud. “That I love him and wouldn’t lie to him. That I want him to believe me so bad.” 

“That sounds good,” she encouraged. “Are you ready to talk to him now, or…?” She let the thought fade out. 

I guessed it needed to be now or never. “Yeah, I’m ready.” 

Mrs. Bruen got out of her seat and slowly, silently moved down the hallway. I heard her knock on my bedroom door. “Byron?” she called. “I need to change the sheets now. Is it okay if I come in?” He didn’t reply verbally, just opened the door. “Are you in the mood for tea or a snack? I left a hot kettle on the stove, and there are some fresh strawberries in the refrigerator.” 

I thought this was a pretty good mood on Mrs. Bruen’s part. She gave By an escape route but didn’t tell him I’d be there. I heard him shuffling down the hall and then he appeared around the corner, stopping in his tracks when he realized I was there. His eyes and nose were really red and there was a tissue sticking out of his shirt pocket. “Want something to eat?” I asked. 

He paused for a moment but then shook his head. “My stomach’s upset,” he admitted. 

“Peppermint tea is good for stomachaches,” I said. “So is a talk with me.” 

By’s face crumpled. “Jeff—” he started, but I cut him off. 

“Have a seat,” I said, I stood up and pulled out a chair. “Let me make you some tea.” 

He focused in on the banal. “I’ve never had peppermint tea before,” he said. 

“It’s been your first time for a lot of things this week,” I said, without a hint of sarcasm. I found him another mug, a small one, and filled it halfway with water, then started talking while the tea steeped. “I’m sorry,” I said when he didn’t reply to my last statement. 

Byron looked down at the table. He put one hand on the tablecloth and traced around his fingers with the other hand. “Me, too.” 

I placed the tea, minus the teabag, in front of him. I thought about what I’d said to Mrs. Bruen just a few minutes before as he wrapped his fidgety hands around the mug. “Can I tell you a few things?” I asked By, who nodded, his eyes focused on his mug. “I’m not drinking. That bottle was old, and I really didn’t know it was there. I haven’t had a single drink since I told you I was quitting. I would admit it if it weren’t true.” I picked up my own tea and took a sip. “I want so bad for you to believe that.” 

“I believe you,” Byron said, his voice soft and tired. “You wouldn’t have stormed off if you weren’t telling the truth.” 

I breathed a sigh of relief. The fight bothered me a lot less than the thought that he didn’t believe me. “Good,” I murmured. 

“I’m sorry again for what I said,” he continued. “I was just worried that you were telling me what I wanted to hear, instead of the truth, just to make me happy.” 

I thought over his logic. “You thought I had slipped but that I didn’t want to disappoint you?” I asked. 

He nodded. “I would understand if you had,” he said, still tightly gripping his mug. “And I would have stood by you.” By took a small sip of tea, tasting it for a while, then took a longer drink. “The only thing I wouldn’t have understood is if you wouldn’t share that with me.” 

“By,” I said, gently touching his arm. He looked up. “I love you, no matter what flaws you may have, and I know you feel the same way. I’ve known that for a long time now, and I think we proved it yesterday morning. I don’t see any point in lying to you.” 

Byron leaned over his mug again. “Everyone lies,” he mumbled. “I feel like I lie to you all the time, when I tell you I’m not worrying about something or that everything’s fine.” 

I laughed. By tipped his head to one side, trying to determine if I was mocking him. “You know that I always know when you’re telling me those little white lies, right? You are the world’s most obvious liar.” 

He smiled a little half-smile. “Does it bother you that I go ahead and tell those lies anyway?” 

I thought about that a minute. “No, not really,” I mused. “Like you said, most people do. You ask people how they are, and they always say fine, even when they’re clearly not. It’s natural.” He nodded his agreement. “But I’m not just anyone. If I ask you how you are, I want the truth. It would be easier if you said, ‘I’m really stressing out over midterms right now,’ instead of telling me you’re fine. I always manage to weasel out of you what’s worrying you anyway, don’t I?” 

“I’ll try,” he said earnestly. “And I’ll try not to assume that you’re just telling me everything’s going well to cover stuff up.” He drained his mug. “You were right, by the way.” 

I set down my own drink. He tells me that a lot; it’s almost become a game. “About what?” 

“About my stomachache,” By explained. “It’s gone, although I’m not sure if it was the tea or the talk that made it go away.” 

“Told you,” I said, only a little big smugly. 

“I should get some for my dorm,” he said, looking over at the tea bags on the counter. He was clearly contemplating making some more tea. I moved my own half-full mug in front of him and he smiled, taking it gratefully. 

“Some peppermint tea or some me?” 

Byron grinned. “Want to come back with me in my suitcase?” he joked. I smiled back, gently shaking my head. “How am I supposed to go back to who I was after this? This has been the best vacation ever. Not only did I get to see L.A. and Berkeley, but we…” He trailed off, looking uncertain. 

“If you’re going to do the act, you need to have words for it,” I suggested quietly, hiding my smirk. I remembered when we were on our spring break the year before and he wouldn’t even say the word condom. 

“I have the words,” By defended himself, “but there are so many different ways of phrasing what we did. I just want to find the right one.” 

I pushed my chair closer to his. “Okay,” I said, following his logic. “Which ones do you like?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

I thought about it as I stretched my arm around him. “Well, there are the popular terms with people our age.” 

“Like doing it?” he said mockingly. 

“Yeah, or hooking up.” 

“Adam generally uses fucking,” Byron added with a roll of his eyes. 

“That sounds like him,” I replied, laughing. 

“The problem with all of those euphemisms is that they sound so casual,” By mused. “Those are the types of words you use when you go to a bar and drunkenly flirt with some stranger.” 

I conceded that. “There’s always the preferred term of school teachers: sexual intercourse, which makes it sound like a college class.” 

By shook with silent laughter. “What about this one? I once heard it called sexual congress. Doesn’t that sound like the technical term for an orgy?” 

I snorted. “Or what our elected officials are _really_ doing with our tax dollars.” He stood up, but leaned over to briefly brush his lips over mine. “Come on. If we’re going to be ready for this dinner on time, we’re going to have to get moving.” 

“Wait,” I called, grabbing his arm before he could walk away. “Before we do that, we have two other things we have to finish first.” 

By’s face was a mass of worry for one brief moment. “Oh?” he questioned, using his slightly-paranoid tone. “What’s left undone?” 

“First, I have the perfect solution to your sexual euphemism problem,” I announced, using his term. I’d never heard the word euphemism before he’d used it a moment earlier, but I liked it instantly. 

“Oh?” he repeated. 

I stood and pulled him to me. “You forgot one,” I insisted. “The best one.” 

“And what would that be, Jeff?” he whispered, looking right into my eyes. 

“Making love.” 

Byron didn’t break eye contact, but he did smile. I wrapped my arms around him before I kissed him, pulling his lower back so that his body was as close to mine as possible. After a minute he rested his forehead on my cheek. “What was the other thing we needed to finish? If we don’t do it soon, we might be starting something here instead.” 

I let him go but took him by the hand. “Come with me.” I pulled him down the hall to the bathroom and then let him go. “Wait here.” I returned a moment later with something under my arm. 

“What are you doing?” By asked as I took the bottle of vodka and unscrewed the cap. “You don’t have to do that,” he said hurriedly as he realized what was going on. 

“Yes, I do,” I insisted as I held the open bottle over the toilet. “I honestly didn’t know I had alcohol in my closet, but I can’t leave it there now that I do know. I might be tempted to drink it. I’d rather keep my promise to you than prove a point.” With that, I upended the bottle. We silently watched the vodka splash into the toilet bowl and then I closed the lid. “You do the honors.” 

He flushed the toilet with a small flourish and then took _my_ hand this time. “Let’s go get dressed.” 

*** 

Byron had expected dinner with my folks to be slightly awkward, but it went rather smoothly. No one trailed their tie in their soup, and By, unlike the time he had dinner with my mom, didn’t even drop his fork. Dad had offered us each a small amount of champagne, but I declined on behalf of both of us. Byron smiled at me, his eyes shining, as the waiter poured sparkling water into our champagne glasses so Dad could make a toast. 

A far more uncomfortable dinner came just two days later. I’d finally gotten around to RSVPing to Thomas’ invitation Friday morning. Byron was enthusiastic without reservations about meeting my friends—it made him much more comfortable than meeting my parents had. “What are your friends like?” he asked Saturday as we were seated in front of my computer. Gracie had spent the last two hours trailing us everywhere, but Carol had finally gotten her to quit by offering to take her to the beach for the afternoon. She’d begged By and me to come along, but that was where we’d spent the day Friday, and By’s fair skin was showing it. Besides, as much as we enjoyed Gracie’s company, sometimes it was nicer to be alone, just the two of us, while Dad worked at the kitchen table. 

The two of us were sharing one chair and he’d been looking through my friends’ MyFriends pages to try to get a feel for them. “What are you so concerned about?” I asked him, leaning further into his side. “I’ve never met a person who didn’t like you that wasn’t some dumbass bigot. Even Helen liked you, and Helen didn’t like anyone.” 

He smiled and shook his head, remembering his crusty former manager. “Okay, okay.” He held his hands up, surrendering. “I’ll stop worrying about it.” 

I looked him dead on, giving him a half smile. “No, you won’t,” I said, cocking one eyebrow. “Remember what we said about telling the truth?” 

Byron’s grin turned sheepish. “I’ll _try_ to stop worrying. How’s that?” 

“Better,” I insisted, even though I knew his effort at not worrying would be half-assed at best. 

The two of us got dressed a short time later. Neither one of us is what you’d call a fashion plate, but we both made an effort to look nice. The restaurant we were headed to was a small place, family run and not nearly as fancy as where we’d gone with my parents. By dug through his suitcase for nearly fifteen minutes, despite the fact that all of his shirts pretty much look the same. Meanwhile, I pulled out my favorite dark jeans and this lightweight button down shirt that I don’t wear too often, because I usually go for plain t-shirts. After I put them on, I took a look in the mirror, but I felt like something was missing. 

Byron finally picked a light green shirt and put it on with the only pair of jeans he’d brought with him, leaving it untucked. “Do you think this outfit is okay?” he asked, spinning around to show me his look from every angle. 

I watched him fondly. “Of course, By. You look…sexy.” 

By wrinkled his nose, but he was smiling. “Jeff, you think I look sexy no matter what I’m wearing…or not wearing.” 

“That’s true,” I admitted. I looked in my closet again (all the clothing and mess that had spilled out on Thursday was now successfully shoved back inside) and emerged this time with a fedora, which I set on top of my head. Carol had bought it for me a couple years back, saying she thought I’d look good in it; I’d set it inside and never taken it back out until now. 

“Are you wearing that?” he asked when he saw me tip the hat to what I thought was a jaunty angle. 

I scanned his tone of voice, trying to figure out where he was going with the question. “I was thinking of it,” I replied defensively. 

By looked me over and backed off, both physically and verbally. “Okay.” 

I turned to look at myself in the mirror again, but I didn’t let him off the hook. “Speak your mind, By.” 

He sat on my bed. “I’m reserving judgment,” he said, without a hint of sarcasm or edginess. 

“What does that even mean?” I asked. He wrinkled his brow and shrugged, looking confused. When he didn’t respond further, I sat beside him, my knees turned toward him. “I wanted to look good,” I explained, putting one hand on his knee. “You always look so put together and clean cut, while I tend to look like a slob. I thought the hat might pull the look together.” 

Byron reached over and pulled the hat off my head, spinning it on his finger. “Okay,” he said again, but this time he smiled. Putting the hat aside, he leaned in and grabbed the collar of my shirt on each side, pulling me toward him. I put one hand on the back of his neck as he kissed me. “Wear the hat,” he finally said, grabbing the article and putting it back on my head. 

I adjusted the hat’s position. “Why don’t I wear it to bed tonight?” I teased. “Just the hat and nothing else.” 

By raised his eyebrows. “Maybe we should just skip dinner and go to bed now.” 

I stood from the bed and offered him a hand. “Look at this. I’ve turned you into a sex maniac.” 

“I’m not complaining,” Byron said as we left to meet my friends. 

*** 

The restaurant was called Danny’s, and while _dive_ wasn’t a fair word to describe it, it was the kind of place that you might not even know existed if you were driving down the street. It had a tiny little sign above the door and showed no other sign of being a restaurant from the outside. Thomas knew the owner, who made sure we got special treatment. In return, we always made sure to tip properly. I scanned the place, looking for Thomas, but I didn’t see anyone I knew. “Heya, Jeff,” the young woman at the hostess podium greeted me as By followed me inside the door. She was there just about every weekend, but I could never remember her name. She scanned her list of reservations for a moment. “Looks like you’re the first ones here,” she acknowledged, repeating what I’d already surmised. “Want to be seated or wait?” 

I looked at By, who seemed more relaxed now than he had earlier when he’d been fretting about my friends. I understood immediately: food. He took a sniff of the air and seemed to draw strength from it. The mere thought made me want to laugh out loud, but instead I turned back to the hostess. “I think we’re a little early. Why don’t we wait until the time of the reservation, and then you can seat whoever’s here?” 

She nodded and walked off to the register to ring up something. I made my way over to a couple seats behind the door and Byron sat down next to me. “She knows you by name?” he asked, playfully raising his eyebrows at me. 

I gave him a gentle sock to the arm. “Only because I’m a regular here. She doesn’t know me in any way outside of my favorite table.” 

He smiled. “Suuuure, Jeff,” he said. I rested my temple on the top of his head. I liked this joking, happy By so much better than the angry, accusatory one from the other day. 

We were still in that position, poring over a menu the hostess had snagged us when the door opened. “Hi there, Kinsey,” the hostess called, causing me to look up and actually pay attention. 

“Dolores!” Kinsey exclaimed, giving her dramatic air cheek kisses. (So that was her name! I mentally filed it away for later.) Kinsey’s shorter than you’d expect for someone with that much stage presence, with naturally blonde hair that’s cut into a bob. When she’s not dressed up with the band, she’s fairly clean cut and looks like someone’s secretary. “I can’t be the first one here, can I?” 

“That will only happen after hell freezes over,” I insisted, struggling to my feet. By leaned out from behind me, taking a look at Kinsey and her friend. 

“Jeff, my homey!” Kinsey said. We gave each other a one armed hug and she gestured to the woman who walked in the door with her. “This is my little sister, Victoria.” 

Victoria gave me a little wave. While Kinsey was short and blonde, Victoria was much taller and had very dark hair. I wondered whether they were actually sisters, but I didn’t ask. These days, when people ask me how many sisters I have, I say three, even though if Mary Anne and I stood side by side the response would be similar. Family isn’t always about blood ties. “Nice to meet you, Victoria,” I said. By this time, Byron had gotten to his feet as well. He once again looked uncertain. “I trust I don’t have to tell you who this is,” I told Kinsey, gesturing to By. 

“Ah, the boyfriend,” Kinsey said cheerfully. She gave By her friendliest smile and a pat on the arm. “Byron, right? I’ve heard a lot about you, but I’m sure only half of it’s true.” 

“If Jeff’s talking, it’s probably only about one third true,” he said, sounding a little bashful. 

Kinsey grinned. “I like this one,” she told me, and I could feel Byron relax without looking at him. “If it helps, every bit of it’s been good.” 

“Then it’s probably only ten percent true,” By quipped. I squeezed his arm and he leaned into my side. 

“By’s of the opinion that he’s got this secret dark side, but I don’t think it really exists,” I told the girls as the door opened again. 

“You see me how you want to see me,” he said quietly, putting one hand on my hip to lean in to my ear. 

Kinsey wasn’t paying attention. “Tommy!” she called as Thomas breezed in the door, looking around for anyone he recognized. The girls had taken to calling Thomas Tommy, because Diana did. He swore that she was the only person who was allowed to get away with that, but I had overheard his mother call him that as well. 

Thomas was alone, the door swinging closed behind him. “Kinsey,” he said crisply, giving her his evil eye. Although I’d met Kinsey first, the two of them had become fast friends. That didn’t stop her from annoying the stuffing out of him sometimes—always on purpose. “Jeff here yet? I want to meet this imaginary boyfriend of his.” 

“Excuse me?” I said, pretending to be outraged. Thomas had started to joke that, because Byron had never put a picture of himself on his MyFriends profile, I had made the profile myself and made up my boyfriend. He’d ask me about my imaginary boyfriend on a regular basis, but like Kinsey’s teasing, it was just for fun. “I know you didn’t just say what I thought you said.” 

Thomas and By looked at each other for a moment. By seemed a little wary, as if he were sizing Thomas up, while Thomas pretended to be shocked. “Oh my God,” he said, “He’s real. That’s a real flesh and blood man.” 

I rolled my eyes. “You’re never going to win an Oscar, McCaffrey.” I turned to Byron. “You see, Thomas thinks he’s funny, but this is as hilarious as he ever gets.” 

By smiled faintly, but it was more of a nervous twitch than anything else. He was twisting one hand nervously in the other at this point. Thomas smiled and put his hand out. “Thomas McCaffrey,” he said as By took his hand gingerly. “It’s really nice to finally meet you, Byron.” 

“You, too.” By’s voice was quieter than normal, though I didn’t quite understand why. He’d been fine before Thomas walked through the door. 

“Hey,” I said, looking around, as if I’d just noticed something. “Where’s Diana? Don’t tell me she’s going to pass up dinner with this charming company.” I’d actually realized Diana didn’t follow the second he’d come through the door, because Diana never followed. She was always the first one in. 

Kinsey snorted and rolled her eyes at the thought of me and Thomas as ‘charming company.’ Thomas gave a wry little smile. “Her cousin’s in town, visiting for spring break. The two of them are pretty close, so she spent the afternoon with her. Diana may or may not be bringing the cousin with when she finally arrives.” 

We went ahead and had a seat at that point and ordered drinks and an appetizer. Kinsey, being an astute observer, had noticed By’s change in behavior and drew him into a conversation about human growth and development, the one class we were both taking at the same time. I took that cue and started trying to discover exactly who Victoria was. Were she and Kinsey related, or were they friends who were just really close? I didn’t really get any answers. I did find out she was a junior in high school and planned to become a massage therapist. That started a conversation on muscles between her and Thomas, who was taking anatomy and was considering a career in the medical field. Not knowing a pectoral from a gluteus, I found myself at a loss in the conversation, but I didn’t let it bother me. By and I were seated next to each other on a bench, a bowl of guacamole in front of us. I wrapped one arm around Byron’s waist and he turned to me with a smile. We could have been with Adam, Jordan and Haley back in Stoneybrook. Not a single person at that table had a problem with the two of us sitting so close together or him putting a hand on my shoulder. 

Diana still hadn’t arrived by the time the guacamole and chicken wings were eaten, so we went ahead and ordered our meals anyway. “Diana always eats the same thing,” I told By after he’d decided on an order. I noticed he’d chosen a selection from the vegetarian part of the menu, despite the fact that everyone else at the table was a carnivore. “Any of us here could order for her.” 

As if to demonstrate, Kinsey held the menu up higher and pushed her voice through her nose. “I’ll have a cheeseburger, hold the mustard, with fries, extra crispy, no salt.” 

“I can speak for myself,” a strident voice called from a couple tables away, but she wasn’t actually angry. Diana is on the shorter side, and she’s also what some people would call ‘big boned.’ When I first met her, I didn’t see what drew her and Thomas together. Between her unconventional looks and her big personality, she was a force to be reckoned with; what did Thomas see in her? But I’d gotten past it very quickly by asking myself one very simple question: What did Byron see in me? I’m awkward, I have anger issues and I see a shrink weekly. Yet he loves me enough to see past all of that. 

Diana took a seat next to Thomas, who gave her a peck on the cheek. “She didn’t come with you?” he asked. 

“Sure she did,” she replied. “She’s just in the bathroom.” Diana grabbed Thomas’ cola and took a big drink. Danny’s offers free refills, so the two of them always share a drink. After the sip, she scanned the length of the table, stopping on Byron, who was watching the action quietly. “This is Jeff’s boyfriend?” she asked the table as a whole. I couldn’t read her tone and that worried me a little. By obviously felt the same way because he tensed up and pulled his arm back from my shoulder. 

We shouldn’t have worried. “They’re so cute together,” Diana continued. She reached across the table and pinched my cheek. 

I batted her away with my free hand, making a face. “Who do you think you are, my grandmother?” I quipped. “I don’t even let her do that anymore.” 

“So, Byron,” Diana went on, ignoring my comments. “How did you and Jeff meet?” 

He turned to me and smiled. I could tell he was thinking back to those days. “We were in the same fourth grade class.” 

“Really?” she asked, surprised. “You guys have known each other for almost as long as Thomas and I have known each other. We met in third grade, and now look at us. We’re getting married.” 

I looked over at By, who wrinkled his nose despite the fact that he was still smiling. He has a very expressive nose; he manages to convey all sorts of meanings with it. I wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking at that moment. “Well, we’ve only been dating for about eleven months now,” I said, turning back to Diana. “We’re not exactly at that step…yet.” 

“Yet?” By echoed, He didn’t sound upset particularly, but rather amused. “I don’t even think that it’s legal for us to get married even if we wanted to, Jeff.” 

I wrapped my arm tighter around his waist and gave him a playful look. “Yet,” I repeated firmly. It wasn’t so much that I necessarily thought that By and I would get married—I was eighteen and really not planning that far ahead—as that I wanted to let him know I was serious about this. It wasn’t just fucking around. 

“Anyway,” Thomas said, “We’re not getting married _yet_ either. We haven’t even set a date…we’re probably going to have to elope so that Diana’s dad doesn’t have time to hire a hit man before the ceremony.” 

Diana glared at him, but based upon what I’d heard, he wasn’t too far off. Kinsey’s interest was piqued. “Ooh, you guys should go to Vegas,” she said. “I’ll come along with you, and if you let me be the flower girl, I’ll also be your wedding singer, free of charge.” 

A semi-comic, semi-serious discussion on the merits of a Vegas wedding broke out between the three women, with Thomas shaking his head and interjecting intermittently. Byron put a hand on the table in front of us, and I put my spare hand on top of his. He smiled at me and I leaned my head on his, not an inch between the two of us. 

It was just a few seconds later that the dinner went from great to extremely uncomfortable. I looked out over the sea of tables and saw a familiar face walking this way, one I never wanted to see again. The face was long and narrow, with piercing blue eyes and thin lips. She had dyed reddish hair that came down to her butt but that needed a serious haircut. I sat up straight again, blatantly staring. She was definitely coming straight for this table, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. By saw me go on alert and put his hand on my back. “Jeff?” he asked quietly, trying not to disturb the others. 

I shook my head. “It’s nothing,” I said, but Byron gave me the same look I’d given him earlier today when I knew he wasn’t being truthful. 

Diana saw us both looking over her head and turned around, but she didn’t share my dread. “Risa!” she called, waving her hand at the blast from the past. 

“Risa,” Byron repeated quietly, suddenly understanding my problem. I nodded at him and he put his hands in his lap, twisting them together. I let go of his waist and reached into his lap, grabbing one of his hands and squeezing it firmly. 

Diana stood up as Risa approached. “This is my cousin Risa,” she announced. “Risa, this is Kinsey and her sister Victoria,” Diana continued, gesturing to each person in turn. “Of course you know Thomas. And this is Byron and—” 

“—Jeffrey Schafer,” Risa interrupted. “How the hell are you?” 

Diana looked from me to Risa and back to me. “You two know each other?” she asked suspiciously. 

Risa pulled up in the chair at the end of the table. “Jeffrey and I dated for…maybe a year, maybe a little longer? Right, Jeffrey?” 

I grimaced. “It’s Jeff,” I grumbled. “I hate to be called Jeffrey. You know that.” 

Kinsey, like everyone else at the table, was confused. Her brow was furrowed. “Jeff?” she called, “You dated a girl?” 

Risa flicked her hair over one shoulder. It was her signature move, something she did a hundred times a day. I remembered being naked with her leaning over me, repeating that same movement. “Are you kidding?” she asked Kinsey incredulously. “Jeff’s dated lots of girls. Dozens of girls.” 

Pretty much everyone at the table was a little shocked by that statement. I’d never mentioned to my college friends that I was bisexual, and they’d just assumed that I’d always been interested only in men. Kinsey’s mouth hung open, while Thomas suddenly became fascinated by the ring his soda had left on the table. By squeezed my hand even harder than I’d squeezed his, in silent companionship. Meanwhile, Victoria, who didn’t really know either me or Risa, looked away entirely, staring at a dusty potted plant hanging a few tables away. 

Diana was looking at me cockeyed. I could just hear her thinking, ‘Oh, you’re _that_ Jeff.’ I played this off like it was no big deal. “Yeah, I’ve dated a few girls,” I coolly told the table as a whole, “although ‘dozens’ is definitely an exaggeration.” 

Risa assumed that my relaxed demeanor meant I’d forgiven her for how things had gone. She leaned back in her chair, letting her hair fall behind her, because she knows I’ve always had a thing for long hair. “We were pretty hot and heavy, though. I’m pretty sure I took his virginity, didn’t I, Jeff?” 

This was beyond mortifying. About the only positive I could come up with for my life at that exact second was, ‘at least Byron already knew all about this so that he’s not judging me.’ My face was scarlet red at this point. “Do we have to talk about his now?” I asked, really hoping she’d let it drop, although I knew the chances of that were slim. 

Risa swept her eyes over the table, seeing everyone else’s discomfort, and changed the subject. “How did you all meet, anyway?” 

Diana breathed a sigh of relief. As forthright and blunt as she can be, she really hates confrontation...when she’s not the one causing it. “Jeff and Kinsey go to PCC with me and Thomas.” 

Risa’s eyebrow arched. “PCC?” she asked me. “What happened to CSU Long Beach?” 

I shrugged. “Plans change.” 

She leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you getting locked up last winter, does it?” 

She was trying to get a rise out of me, and it was working. She’d always been able to raise my hackles very quickly. “It has everything to do with that,” I said through a tightly clenched jaw. “Now can we change the subject to something pleasant that everyone would like to discuss, please?” 

Byron saw the frustration in the set of my teeth and let my hand go, putting his palm on my shoulder instead. “Deep breaths,” he said under his own breath, trying to get me to relax. I followed his instruction and took a long, audible deep breath, which I then noisily exhaled. For all the good it did toward making me less disgruntled. 

Risa saw all of that. “And do you go to PCC, too?” she asked By, who had let me go when he reached for his glass of root beer. 

I quickly answered for By, not because I didn’t think he could handle himself but because I wanted to keep the conversation between me and Risa. “No, he goes to Duke, in North Carolina.” 

Now she was the one riled. “What’s the matter, Jeff?” she asked. “Can’t your friend there speak for himself?” 

I leaned toward her, speaking very quietly. “Get the appellation correct,” I said, almost under my breath. “Byron is not my friend; he’s my boyfriend. We’ve been together for almost a year now.” 

Risa thought I was still trying to annoy her. She laughed, leaning forward in her chair. We were nearly nose to nose. “Funny, Jeff,” she said drily. “Hilarious.” 

I furrowed my brow; this had to be the most awkward conversation ever. Byron ducked his head momentarily—not out of embarrassment from what I’d said, but because the whole scene was extremely painful—but he sat back up quickly, placing his hand on my shoulder supportively. Risa watched the movement and suddenly her whole demeanor changed. “Wow,” she said, louder than necessary. “Wow,” she repeated. “You turned gay?” 

Her voice echoed throughout the whole restaurant—or maybe it just seemed that way to me. Victoria and Kinsey excused themselves to the bathroom, with Kinsey just pointing toward the facilities to let us know where they were going. “Risa,” Diana growled, sounding irritated. “Back off.” 

I held my hand up toward Diana, who looked like she was about to verbally assault her cousin for her rudeness. One thing I had learned through the last six months was that Diana could be one of your biggest supporters…as long as she felt you were on the side of right. She was loyal to a fault, but she had no problem telling you off even though she loved you. Diana watched my frustrated yet calm gesture and sat back in her seat. Thomas put an arm around her to comfort her. “People don’t _turn_ gay,” I said. I found emotion bubbling up, but I took strength from the warm, strong hand on my shoulder. “It’s not like it’s a choice.” 

Risa’s face twitched and I stifled a sigh. She had been the queen of manipulative tears when we were together, and they’d always worked. She wasn’t actually crying now, but this is how it had always started. “So you’re dating a guy now,” she summarized, her voice still steady despite the obvious distress on her face. I nodded. “I have to know. You can love a girl, right? You weren’t just with me to test yourself or pretend, were you?” 

I didn’t quite understand her emotion. Our relationship had been so toxic. We fought all the time, she manipulated me at a time when I was at a mental health low, and neither one of us had seemed happy together. I couldn’t explain why I’d let it go on for so long…or why I’d been so upset about it when she finally broke things off. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. 

Those three little words appeared to devastate her. She pulled her chair back from the table and turned away from me. Thomas pulled his arm back from Diana, thinking she might say or do something, but she sat there, almost as if she were frozen. I sat back in my seat as well, taking more deep breaths. We were all quiet for a moment as Risa sniffled through an attempt not to cry, but these tears were different. They were genuine, not fake like I was used to seeing out of her. Byron squeezed my shoulder and then spoke. “I can tell you something,” he said, watching Risa. She looked up at him. “Jeff may not be able to answer your questions, but I can, at least partly. There’s no way that Jeff was with you just to prove a point to himself or the world. He’s not that type of person.” 

I looked at him and he turned to me, completely serious. He’d meant every word he’d said. Byron looked back to Risa, who was watching the two of us closely. “The last couple years have been very difficult for me,” I said. I pushed myself closer to her so that I could use a quieter voice. “I don’t just mean being diagnosed as bipolar, either. Getting that out into the open and getting it treated is actually a good thing. But you got to see me at my absolute worst.” She nodded her agreement to that. She’d seen me break things and break down, and I’d called her every bad name in the book—often to her face. “I can’t tell you why I was with you, but I will say it wasn’t out of spite, or to prove a point.” 

Risa wiped her eye and then reached out impulsively and squeezed my wrist before letting it go. “I loved you, you know,” she said. “I mean,” she added quickly, throwing a glance to Byron, “I’m totally over you now, but I really did care. I only broke up with you because I thought it was the best thing.” 

“It was,” I agreed. “I should really thank you for that. If it weren’t for you breaking things off, I probably wouldn’t have gotten that depressed, so I probably wouldn’t have gotten treatment. I probably wouldn’t have gone to visit my mom for spring break, so…” I faded out, turning to Byron. He smiled encouragingly. 

“So you wouldn’t have wound up dating Byron,” she finished. Risa seemed a lot calmer now. She was on the verge of smiling. “I would have never pegged you as gay, Jeff, and I don’t just mean because we’ve, well, _been_ together.” 

I grabbed By’s hand and linked my fingers through his, my palm resting on the back of his hand. “We all fall somewhere on a scale between gay and straight,” I said as if I were some type of expert on the subject. “I just happen to be in the middle.” 

Hands clamped down on my shoulders. “That’s _my_ scale,” a voice announced as the hair on the back of my neck stood up. 

Thomas released one sharp, ‘ha!’ of a laugh. I think it was more an attempt to ease the tension he was feeling than a response to the last comment. “Your scale?” he repeated to the voice. 

“It’s called the Kinsey Scale, after that sexologist that created it, but I prefer to tell people it’s named after me. Way more interesting that way.” 

Kinsey found her seat and Diana turned to her. “Of course you do,” she said drily. She looked up at Thomas. “Is that a real thing?” she asked. Diana always expects Thomas to have all the answers. 

“It is,” Kinsey interjected indignantly. “No one is completely at one end or the other. That’s why I can look at picture of Jessica Alba and see that she’s hot, even though I would never, ever date a woman.” Diana nodded both her understanding and her agreement. “You also shift through time; that’s why sometimes people will date one way for years and then flip to the ‘other team,’ if you will.” She looked at me when she said that part. 

Victoria also returned to her seat, looking intrigued. I think if she’d had her way, she’d have never joined Kinsey in the bathroom. Risa looked at each person in turn, then grabbed the ends of her hair and twirled a piece around her finger. “Maybe I should go,” she said abruptly. “You guys have already ordered, right? I’m just intruding.” 

“No,” Byron called as she stood up from her seat. “Stay.” She turned to look at him, surprised. “Look, this has been—well, a ‘hot mess’ might cover it—but you shouldn’t have to give up dinner with your cousin just because Jeff and I are here. We’re the ones would be most likely to have objections, and we’re okay with you staying—aren’t we, Jeff?” 

I studied his expression carefully. The way By had phrased that, there was only one correct answer to that question. No matter how much I thought it would be better if Risa left then—I’d been relieved when she’d suggested it—I couldn’t say so now without looking like the king of the assholes. Why did By always have to be so mature about stuff? 

On the other hand, looking back on it, I know he was right. Risa had made an overture towards peace when she’d admitted that it would have bothered her if I were just with her to prove I _could_ be with a girl. Even if Byron hadn’t told her she could stay, it would have been an asshole move to let her walk away. “Of course you can stay,” I said, flicking my eyes back over to Risa. I made eye contact with the hostess and beckoned her over. “Hey, Dolores,” I said. “This is Risa, and she’s gonna need a menu.” 

*** 

Risa only wound up staying long enough to eat. She’d been biting her tongue through the whole meal, trying hard not to say something inappropriate. After she’d paid her bill, she made some pathetic excuse about needing to spend the evening with her parents and ran like hell. 

Byron and I left about half an hour later. “This is his last night here in L.A.,” I pointed out, the gravity of what I was saying hitting me as I said it. I wanted our last twelve hours or so to be about the two of us and just the two of us. 

We got in my car and, instead of heading back to my house, I took him to a scenic overlook. “This is such a cliché,” By said, although he was smiling. “What are we going to do now, make out in the backseat? That seems a little too…normal teenager…for the two of us.” 

“No, not this time,” I replied with a twinkle in my eye. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’d done something like that. I reached into the back seat and grabbed a blanket, which I stuck under my arm. I opened my car door and stepped out. 

By followed. “Hey, is that the blanket you bought in Maine?” he asked. 

“One and the same.” Not only was it already in the car, but I also wanted to spend time in the open air on the same blanket we’d bought that first night together. I walked down a short way to a rocky plateau and Byron followed, stumbling a little bit. I reached out for his hand and helped him right himself. 

He squatted a little ways back from the edge of the rock as I laid out the blanket. “It’s beautiful up here,” he said, awed. The overlook faced away from the city and you could see the mountains, all lit up and hazy in the smog. It was the only place on earth where smog actually looked good. 

“Yeah.” I sat down on the blanket and beckoned to him. A little extra cautious after his slight misstep, he crawled over and snuggled up to my side. I wrapped my arms around him. “I’ve only come here once before, but I just loved it so much that I had to bring you. Remember, back on Beech Hill, when I said that it was like looking at God? I feel that way here, too.” 

By rested his head on my shoulder and we sat there quietly for a while. He sighed happily and I brushed my hand over one cheek before I kissed him gently. “Mmm,” he murmured. “I’m going to miss you so much over the next two months.” 

“Hmm,” I agreed. “On the plus side, maybe we’ll have better luck with the phone sex this time.” He looked at my smirk for a moment and then laughed. I shifted my weight a little bit and he wiggled around, waiting to see what I was going to do. I managed to get my hands to meet despite the fact that I was still holding him. “I wanted to get you something,” I told him seriously, “so that you always have a little piece of me.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he insisted. 

I ignored that. “On Wednesday, you told me I make your world wider. That’s the best compliment I ever received. I wanted to repay the favor, but I just don’t have the words you do.” I clasped my left thumb with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand. 

“Jeff, you’ve given me everything, just by being you,” Byron said. He had his right arm around my waist, the hand on my stomach at the top of my jeans, and his left hand on my left hip. Just that touch alone was enough to make my brain go fuzzy. 

“You know how Jordan gave Haley a ring before he went off to school?” I continued. He nodded. “I wanted to find something visible like that. Something you can touch and know I’m thinking of you.” I finally managed to wiggle free what I’d been fiddling with. “But you’re not much of the jewelry type, are you?” 

He shook his head. “I have a problem with you spending money on me like that—buying me unnecessary trinkets to prove what I already know.” 

“But what if I didn’t spend any money on it?” I asked. I took his hand in mine and slid my ring on his thumb. I’d been afraid it wouldn’t fit, since his fingers are so delicate. It was a little loose on him but was held in place by his knuckle. “I’ve had this ring for years; it was given to me as a gift. Now I want to pass it on to you.” 

He gingerly touched the ring. It wasn’t gold, or silver, or anything else valuable, but I could see he was touched by the sentiment. “I’ll never take it off,” he said sincerely. 

I kissed him again and he laid his head back on my shoulder. If he was up for it, I would stay there and watch the sun come up with him.


	3. A Matter of Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that if you start looking at things upside down, it takes three days for your brain to adjust. But what if you've been looking at them upside down your whole life?

Je11y_6ean_h: so By just left huh?  
Superjeff15: yeah. this is where hed put a bunch of sad faces  
Je11y_6ean_h: awwwwwwww, Jeff! did you have a good time at least?  
Superjeff15: are u kidding? we had the best time ever. is bestest a word?  
Je11y_6ean_h: it is now  
Superjeff15: so now its ur turn to go visit jordan  
Je11y_6ean_h: yeah, right after the play is over. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve never flown before & I haven’t been to FL since I was little…& of course seeing Jordan doesn’t hurt  
Superjeff15: well have fun and dont do nething i wouldnt do  
Je11y_6ean_h: that gives me a lot of leeway, doesn’t it? ;P

Byron’s flight back to North Carolina left around noon on that Sunday. Gracie had asked once again to drive with us to the airport. I’d been trying to find a polite way to tell her no when By agreed to let her come along. “Oh, come on, Jeff,” he’d said lightly when I’d given him a look, “You’re going to need her chatter on the way back home. Trust me.” 

He’d been right, too. By refused to let me come into the airport with him because he didn’t want me spending money on parking. “I’ll be fine,” he insisted, “and it’s not like you can go past security with me or anything.” He was wearing a comfortable, soft gray t-shirt instead of his usual button-down shirt and his jeans were riding low on his hips. We’d stayed out until nearly two in the morning on the overlook; that was when he’d fallen asleep, curled up in the fetal position with his head on my lower leg. I’d snapped a photo of him with his own camera before I’d gently shaken him awake. By’d spent the short trip back to my house half-asleep, talking about the summer. He was trying to think of ways for the two of us to find some time alone together, but he’s not at his genius best in the middle of the night when he’s just been roused. None of his suggestions were very plausible. 

Gracie stayed in the car in her booster seat when we got to the airport, and as I pulled By’s suitcase out of the trunk, he gave her a big hug and promised he’d see her at Thanksgiving. Grace’s face crumpled up. “How much longer is that?” she asked him sadly, then answered her own question. “That’s, like, next year. I don’t want to wait that long.” 

“Well,” he answered her seriously, “It _is_ a long time. You’ll be eight and in third grade by then. But I promise to write you emails in Jeff’s email, and I’ll see you sooner than that if I can, okay?” 

She’d sniffled as he’d closed the car door behind him, and by that point, he looked ready to cry himself. “Jeff,” he said, his voice quiet but strong. He was learning how to keep some of the emotions from bubbling over. 

“Ten weeks,” I told him sincerely. He smiled and closed the gap between us. Hugging me tightly, By rested his head on my shoulder. 

I kissed his neck and he squeezed me even tighter for a brief moment. “Ten weeks,” he repeated when he let me go. He’d done the math earlier in the week and realized we’d gone closer to thirty-five weeks without seeing each other before his visit. It put separating in perspective—a little bit. I gave him a brief peck on the cheek, not wanting to embarrass him with PDA in a very public place. I guess I shouldn’t have worried, though. The only person paying attention was a cross-looking woman in an orange vest who was directing traffic and wanted me to move my car. I stood next to the passenger door to watch him disappear into the terminal, planning to hop back inside my little Mazda once he was out of sight. Just as I sighed at his retreating back, he stopped and turned around. “Love you,” he shouted across the crowded sidewalk. 

I grinned at him; I couldn’t vocalize how proud I was of him for being willing to proclaim his feelings so obviously like that. “Love you more,” I shouted back. His eyes were glistening as he turned back around, his shoulders broad and tall, and walked into departures and out of my life—temporarily. 

I got back into the car but I didn’t have a chance to start to feel down. First was the fact that I had to get out of the loading and unloading zone before angry-looking Traffic-Cop-Lady came over to yell at me; second was that I heard pathetic little hiccups and gulps of air coming from the backseat. “Grace?” I asked as I checked over my shoulder to see my blind spot, “What’s the matter?” 

“I don’t want him to leave,” Gracie half spoke, half-cried. She was rubbing one hand to her eye. 

“Neither do I,” I answered her truthfully, “but he has to go back to school tomorrow, same as I do.” 

“Why can’t he go to school where you do?” 

“Believe me, I’d like that too,” I replied as I drove away from the airport. Even though I knew it was illogical—his flight didn’t leave for another hour and, anyway, all planes look the same—I chose an airplane taking off and decided it was his. I watched it gain altitude in the smoggy, sun-sparkled sky and wished him good things until it became just a tiny speck on the horizon. I wished him peace for his worries and for him to have the faith in me that I felt I had in him. I also hoped for him to find solutions to the problems that he felt plagued him: a method for traveling cross-country with his gear in the fall and some way for us to spend time alone over the summer. I knew both of these problems would solve themselves, but the sooner they were solved, the sooner he’d quit worrying about them. 

After the plane was out of sight, I looked at Gracie in the rearview mirror. “Let’s sing,” I suggested. “You pick a song.” 

Grace looked at me as if I were her new hero. My parents are always trying to get her to stop singing, so for me to suggest it was like suggesting she could go to the toy store and buy anything she wanted. “Puff, the magic dragon,” she sang in a clear, steady voice, “lived by the sea.” 

I’d sung that one in second grade at Vista, too, and my mother was a big Peter Paul and Mary fan. I knew all the lyrics. “And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honnah Lee,” we continued together, with me adding an inadvertent harmony. I’d spent a long time feeling like Puff, who lost his best friend when the friend grew up ahead of him. I think most people can understand that at least once in their life. Now, looking back on my old friends: Risa and Oliver and a whole crew of people I only kept up with from time to time on MyFriends, I realized that I was probably the one leaving them behind this time. 

*** 

The next week wasn’t exactly the high point of my life. I shuffled around the house, school and even work, not really paying as much attention to things as I should have been. Like Byron, I’ve never been able to cover my emotions, so the whole world knew something was off. And they all felt the need to point it out. 

I got really tired really quickly of people trying to sympathize with me. Kinsey was constantly trying to force me to eat even though I wasn’t hungry, while Carol kept insisting I talk about my feelings. “I don’t really do that. I’m a guy,” I pointed out, only a little sarcastic. 

“Do we need to take you back to the doctor?” she’d replied earnestly. ‘Take you back to the doctor’ was code in my house for ‘lock you away in a secure facility where you’re not allowed to have shoelaces or forks.’ 

I watched Carol seriously for a while. There is a difference between being depressed and being sad, and this was definitely a case of the latter. “No,” I finally answered quietly. I didn’t want Grace overhearing. “This isn’t chemical. This is just Byron being gone. I’ll get over it in time.” 

She let the subject drop temporarily, but that didn’t stop her from keeping an eagle eye on me when she thought I wasn’t looking. I alternated between being annoyed that she was hovering and being touched that she was so concerned. I know how stupid that sounds. My shrink calls it ‘cognitive dissonance’ when you feel two different things at the same time; I just call it confusing. 

I was still dragging that Friday when I got home from work. I work three to eleven on weekdays and normally the house is dark and silent when I get home, since my parents and Grace have gone to bed. This night, the lights were blazing and at first I worried that maybe there had been an emergency. Perhaps Gracie had been injured and Dad and Carol had left in a hurry. But when I pulled up, I noticed something that explained _everything_ : there was an extra car in the driveway. 

Have you ever walked into a room and just _known_ that you were interrupting an argument, even though no one’s talking? You can just _feel_ it in the air or something. I dropped my bag on the couch and followed the bad vibes into the kitchen. Dad and Carol sat on one side of the table, squared off against Dawn. Each side was trying really hard not to look at the other, and at first, no one acknowledged my presence. Carol was rubbing tiredly at her temples while Dad sat rigidly straight. I recognized the posture; it was the same one he’d once used when Gracie had come in while he was in the middle of calling me an ‘ungrateful little brat.’ 

Dawn, for her part, appeared neutral in her stance. She wasn’t pressing her shoulders together in frustration like Dad, nor was she aggressively leaning forward, ready to attack, like I would have been in her place. She looked up from whatever inanimate object had been attracting her attention as I hovered awkwardly in the doorway, wondering whether I should say something. “Hi, Jeff,” Dawn said wearily. Her voice was hoarse, although I wasn’t sure if it was from shouting or crying. There were no tear tracks on her face, but that didn’t mean anything. 

“Hey,” I called. I left the doorway and crossed the room, trying hard to pretend that I hadn’t just walked in on a train wreck. I grabbed a box of crackers so it looked like I had only come in because I wanted a snack. Byron’s family is big into the whole ‘feigned nonchalance’ thing where they pretend no one’s trying to kill one another and they didn’t just hear things they didn’t want to hear. He’s not very good at it himself, but he plays along for the sake of the game. 

I’m not very good at it either, obviously. Three sets of eyes followed me as I struggled to open the box, and that made my acting even more terrible. I shrank under their stares, purposely turning so that they couldn’t see my face. Finally Carol put me out of my misery. “Good night at work?” she asked. 

I’d managed to open the glue on the box and was now fighting with the inner bag. Why is it so hard just to get a cracker, dammit? “It’s UPS,” I muttered. “My job consists of taking boxes off one conveyor, scanning them, and putting them on another conveyor. Not going to win job of the year or anything. It’s only a good night when I don’t get a paper cut.” 

If I thought a little humor might lighten the situation, I was horribly wrong. Dad glared at me, while Carol sighed at what she considered my bad attitude. Only Dawn didn’t change expressions. Frustrated and annoyed at the aura of gloom that was making me even more miserable than I’d been for the past week—and even more annoyed at the crackers that I didn’t really even want to eat—I squeezed the bag and it exploded, sending crumbs every which way. Dad stood up. “Dammit, Jeff, can’t you even get a snack without causing a scene?” he hollered. 

Dawn slammed her hands down on the table in front of her and stood up, staring Dad down. _Now_ her posture reminded me of myself. “Don’t you take this out on him,” she growled at our father. He was as surprised as I was—he leaned back just a tad as she went on. “If you’re angry at me, that’s between you and me.” 

Carol put a soothing hand on Dawn’s shoulder, but her focus was on Dad. “Jack, why don’t you and Dawn finish this conversation tomorrow? It’s late.” 

Dawn shrugged Carol off, but she didn’t say another word. She just continued looking at Dad, who rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a moment. Dad glanced over at me; I had bent over to pick up the crackers but hadn’t started yet. I wasn’t sure if he was mulling over apologizing to me or considering whether he wanted to continue his war with Dawn in my presence. He didn’t do either; he just left the room and stalked off down the hall. (Had I stomped like that, he would have accused me of throwing a tantrum and called me a brat. Again.) 

Dawn waited until Dad had audibly closed—slammed, really—his bedroom door and then turned to look at Carol, still standing next to the table, then me, still kneeling with the exploded cracker bag in my hand. She, too, left without saying a word. 

I squeezed the cracker bag without realizing it, crinkling it. Carol, who seemed to have forgotten I was even there, turned around and took me in. I felt like a little boy again, the way I did when I was seven or eight and my parents were fighting all the time. Granted, Dad never cursed that I knew about back then, but he had shouted at Dawn and me regularly in those days. Carol watched my expression and her own softened. “Here. Let me help you clean that up.” 

There was a time when I would have taken that as an excuse to let her clean the whole mess up. Hell, if it had happened the day before, I probably would have done that. But I had too many questions at the moment. “What was that all about?” I asked, carefully keeping my voice low. 

Carol had grabbed the dustpan and brush. She shook her head in answer to her question; it wasn’t a ‘no’ or an ‘I don’t know,’ but rather an ‘I’m not going to answer that.’ She swept silently for a while as I gathered up the larger pieces of cracker. I figured I’d still eat a few of them; Mrs. Bruen had mopped earlier that day. The mess was just about gone when she finally spoke. “Your dad’s not really mad at you, you know.” 

“I know,” I answered without looking up. “He’s just projecting his anger with Dawn onto an easier target.” Carol tipped her head sideways and stopped sweeping. It made me a little paranoid. “What?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she said as she returned to the crumbs. “Just, every now and then, you surprise me, Jeff. You sound more mature right now than your dad did tonight.” I shrugged at that. That definitely wasn’t true most of the time. “Do you remember I once told you that you and your dad fought all the time because you’re too much alike?” 

I’d been maybe fourteen at the time and Dad had caught me with a pack of cigarettes. I’d called him a giant hypocrite because he’d smoked for years before Dawn was born and had started even younger than I was. Both Dawn and I had heard stories about his teenaged years and how much of a hooligan he’d been; it had made it hard for us to take him too seriously when he’d chastise us for our miscreant behavior. Carol had taken me aside afterward; I’d mouthed off to Dad just one too many times and had wound up with a month’s grounding. “Why does Dad hate me so much?” I’d asked her, mostly rhetorically. 

Carol had chosen to take me seriously. “Your dad doesn’t hate you. He just sees his teenaged self in you and wants to warn you about all the problems he faced so you can avoid them.” 

“Sure,” I’d replied, sarcasm dripping from that single syllable. 

She didn’t address that directly. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for your dad to quit smoking?” she’d asked me. 

“Do you?” I’d quipped in reply. “That was before I was born and way before you knew him.” 

Carol ignored that one as well. “He quit because he didn’t want you and Dawn to live in a house surrounded by smoke and cigarettes, so it hurts when he sees you giving up the clean lungs he worked so hard for you to have.” She’d looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “You and your dad are a lot alike; you’re both stubborn and both convinced you know what’s best. Don’t tell your father this, but sometimes I think he never outgrew being a teenager.” 

I shook myself after recalling that final line. Dad certainly was acting like a fourteen year old tonight. “Yeah, I remember that,” I told Carol as I bit into one of the crackers. 

“Well, I never got to say this to any of you, but I think Dawn is even more like your dad than you are. Not only do the two of them stand their ground without regard to logic sometimes, but they fight in the exact same way. When you and your dad used to argue, he could just wait for you to sass him so he could ground you and walk away. He can’t do that with Dawn, partly because he can’t ground her—she’s twenty-two and doesn’t live here—and partly because she’s not about to say anything that will push him that far over the edge. I think this argument could go on for a while.” 

*** 

If anything, things were worse in the morning. The only plus side was that Gracie is an earlier riser. By the time I dragged myself out of bed and joined my family, she was moving at full speed, talking to Dawn like they were best friends and were going to spend the whole day gossiping. I suddenly wished I were ‘seven and three quarters’ again and could either ignore—or not even notice—that my father and sister weren’t talking to each other. And it’s not like they were being subtle about it, either. At breakfast, Dawn actually turned to me and asked me to pass something that was sitting right next to Dad’s elbow. I felt like I was back in kindergarten again. At least they didn’t refuse to eat at the same time. 

After that Dad took Gracie ‘shopping.’ He almost never just announces he’s going shopping; usually we get an exact litany: “I’m going to Deuce Hardware and then to Nature’s Pantry; do you need anything?” I’m pretty sure he had no idea where he was headed when he and a high-spirited Grace drove off. He just wanted to get out of the house. 

Dawn closed herself in her room, and was eerily quiet. I wasn’t used to her door shut tight with no noises coming from behind it. When she was in high school, she and her friend Sunny were always in there, either fighting about something or listening to music or just talking loudly with a bunch of friends. I did a bit of homework and then decided that the whole thing was just too awkward. One of them had to break down and tell me what was going on, and she was a better bet. 

I knocked on her door tentatively. “Who is it?” Dawn called brusquely. 

“Well, it’s not Dad,” I replied into the door crack. 

Normally that sort of sarcasm would have gotten a laugh out of her, but not today. “Not funny.” 

“Can I come in, Dawn? Let’s talk.” 

There was a long pause. “Door’s unlocked and you know how to use a knob, I hope.” 

She couldn’t have been too upset if she was willing to make a joke of her own. I cracked the door and looked around. For some reason, it always surprises me when I look in Dawn’s room. She left for college almost four years ago, and at first my parents left her room as is, like a shrine. Her posters—dolphins and ‘mother earth’ and all this weird Wiccan stuff she got into her senior year—remained on the wall, while her furniture and bedding stayed the same, since she bought all new stuff for college. 

But a year later, she moved into an apartment and took all her furniture and some of her artwork with her. The hideaway bed had become a semi-permanent fixture in her room, but the rest of it was pretty empty. It was the hollow shell of a bedroom: her wallpaper, which she’d chosen when she was a teen, was still there, as was the silly purple and yellow rug she’d made at camp one year, but the rug was tattered and stained and the wall colors were sun-faded in spots. It made the places her furniture had been stand out brighter, giving the room a creepy feel. Carol had talked about doing something with the space but had never followed through. 

I spent a little more time than I should have taking all of this in, and it made Dawn wary. “What do you want, Jeff?” she asked. She was sitting on the floor in front of her closet, digging through an old toy box that Dad had moved into the closet after she’d emptied it. It was full of my old toys—dinosaurs and superheroes, mostly—but it seemed to me that Dawn was sort of halfheartedly playing with some of them. Maybe she was trying to relive her own childhood. 

I sat down beside her and picked up a Captain America figurine. “I thought maybe you and I could go for a walk,” I said, echoing her sentiment from earlier in the month. 

Dawn had a Superman toy in one hand and a triceratops in the other. She didn’t appear to be paying attention to them, though. “No thanks.” 

I crossed my legs in front of me, thinking about the kinds of games that I used to play with these toys. I reached across my sister and picked up a dinosaur. “Who do you think would win a fight?” I asked after a moment, holding up each hand. “Captain America or T-Rex?” 

Dawn tossed my things on the floor. “Why do you still have these toys?” she asked, sounding frustrated as hell. “Why didn’t they get donated to Goodwill when you outgrew them?” She looked around the room hurriedly, then actually turned to look me in the eye for the first time. “Why are you holding on to the past?” 

I raised an eyebrow. “First,” I said, ticking off on my fingers as I spoke, “You’re the reason these toys didn’t get donated. When I tried to get rid of them, you told Dad to keep them because Gracie might like them. You didn’t want her to get ‘indoctrinated into traditional gender roles,’ remember?” Dawn furrowed her brow, not at the memory, but at my mocking tone of voice. “And second, who’s the one in here playing with the old toys?” 

Dawn just shrugged. She was wearing a pair of ancient denim overalls and a loose t-shirt. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by action figures, she looked a lot like Grace, and I’d always been able to get through to Grace when she’s mopey. I figured it was worth a shot. “C’mon, Dawn,” I urged in what I imagined might be a soothing voice, “Tell me what’s going on.” 

She folded her legs underneath her and began blindly tossing superheroes back into the toy box. I watched them fly and bounce around while she composed her thoughts. “Remember a few weeks ago when we were talking about what I wanted to do with my life?” 

Why does she set me up like that? She knows my instinct is to turn the sarcasm up to Spinal Tap eleven. I had to bite my tongue really hard to avoid saying, “Why, no, Dawn. Why don’t you refresh my memory of something that happened three weeks ago?” Instead, I just nodded. 

It was then I realized Dawn was actively seeking smart-assed replies. When I didn’t give one to her, she was briefly confounded, completely thrown off stride. “Well,” she finally sputtered. “I had applied for something some time back and I wasn’t sure it was going to work out, but I got accepted.” 

All of that had come out in one breath, in a nervous, jittery, high-pitched, ‘I’m-pulling-something’ voice. She sounded just like Byron when he’s trying to fob off half-truths on me. “Okay,” I mulled for a moment before deciding I was done feigning depth. “Can you repeat that, maybe not in a Donald Duck voice this time?” 

Dawn rolled her eyes a bit, but she relaxed. This was the Jeff she was used to; the one who didn’t ‘do’ serious and avoided sharing at all costs. “Okay, smart ass,” she said. “I applied to join the Peace Corp. I thought they might send me to South America, right, where I could use my Spanish skills?” Dawn phrased that as a question, although she didn’t mean it as one. In the past I’ve teased her about being, like, a Valley Girl, but I eventually figured out that this was her way of making sure I was following along. If I had to nod at the appropriate times, then she could tell whether or not I was actually listening. I did that at the moment so that she’d continue. “I didn’t hear back from them for a really long time, so I thought I’d been rejected. But in the last week I had another interview and a health check and it looks like I’ll be heading overseas in July.” 

I sat up straighter. “Dawn, that’s great!” I enthused. She seemed a lot happier talking about the Peace Corp than she had been for most of the school year. My sister, the crusader—same as always. “Where are you going?” 

Her posture was more relaxed now that it had been all weekend. She sprawled across her floor; you might even say she was lounging. “Remember when you mentioned the Pikes spreading out and said that Claire might end up in Africa?” I stifled a sigh and just bit my tongue. Why can’t girls ever just get straight to the point? “Well, if she winds up in Kenya, tell her to look me up.” 

Wow. Kenya. “I guess you’re not going to get to use your Spanish too much there,” I mused. Dawn smiled a little, pinched-mouth smile. Despite her ease with me, she was still upset. I went straight for the source. “I think that’s the coolest thing ever, so what the hell’s Dad’s problem?” 

She made a nauseated face. “Oh, I guess he knows someone who knows someone who knew a girl who died while doing Peace Corp work. Therefore, it’s dangerous and not safe for his pwecious widdle giwl.” Dawn whipped out a baby voice and twirled a loose piece of hair around one finger as she finished that up. 

I unfolded my legs because they were going numb. “Did you tell him that you’re an adult, you haven’t been in diapers in twenty years, and you’re going to make your own choices and if he doesn’t like that, he can go to hell?” 

She chuckled. “You just summed up the argument we had last night, yeah.” 

I nodded my understanding. I wasn’t kidding when I said that I thought going to Kenya was an awesome adventure. Getting to see another continent and experience another culture while simultaneously getting to help improve the planet? Right up Dawn’s alley. “Well, what did your friends say? How about Mom? Did you tell her yet?” 

Dawn’s hair was loose except for two little braids that met in the back. Some strands slipped out from behind her ears and she absentmindedly tucked them back, not noticing that they didn’t stay and crept back toward her face. “My friends are supportive, although they don’t quite get it. Most of them are all about the consumer-driven life and don’t understand why anyone would want to drop out of that, even for a good cause.” She blew in her face, making the stay hairs dance. “You know who—besides you—has been the most supportive, though?” 

I thought about that for a moment. “Sunny?” I guessed. Dawn’s childhood best friend was even more of a Bohemian than Dawn was; they’d started off at college together but Sunny had dropped out after one year and was now (in Dad’s words) bumming around New York City. If anyone could understand dropping out of the rat race to pursue a calling, it was Sunny. 

Dawn shook her head. “I actually haven’t told her yet. I called Mom to tell her right away after I heard the news. She was more open to the idea than Dad was—hard not to be—but Richard was actually all for it. He said helping others was a ‘noble calling’ and that it would instill me with a great work ethic and make me very desirable to employers when I returned.” She chuckled kind of sarcastically. “Leave it to Richard, though: he has to kind of insult me when he’s complimenting me, by suggesting I don’t have a work ethic now and I’m not desirable.” 

“He didn’t mean it that way,” I insisted. Over the past summer, I’d learned to read—and speak—Richard better. He was never much of one for straight-out compliments, especially if he didn’t think you’d listen. The last night I was in Stoneybrook last August, he’d taken me aside and said that he was proud of me for a bunch of reasons, and he was glad to have me for a stepson. He’d never explained any of it, but Dr. Anton and I had worked through what was probably at least a couple of the reasons. “He’s used to working with criminals, Dawn, so I don’t think he ever learned how to say nice stuff without tingeing it with a ‘but’.” 

“Like… ‘You’re turning into such a lovely young woman. It’s a shame you don’t visit your mother more.’” 

“Or… ‘You’re doing so well in college, Jeff. It’s too bad you didn’t apply yourself like that in high school.’” 

Dawn stood up and brushed herself off, not because she needed to, but because it was something to do with her hands. “You and I are two of a kind, Jeff. We both spent our teen years rebelling against stuff that, someday, we’re going to want. There’s this really cheesy, obnoxious earworm song that Sunny and her mom used to love. It’s called Seasons in the Sun. You ever hear of it?” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

“Well, I think they first listened to it because the title made it sound like it was about the beach or something, but it’s really about a boy dying young. Kinda appropriate, given…” Dawn almost didn’t want to continue the thought, and I didn’t blame her. I didn’t really remember Sunny’s mom, who’d been gone for nearly half my life, but I did know she’d been a serious role model on Dawn before succumbing to cancer. She was probably as much as an influence on Dawn’s life choices as Mom or Carol. “In any case, the boy talks about all the choices he made when he thought he’d live forever, and how he regrets them all now that he knows he’s only got a little time left. ‘The wine and the song, like the seasons have all gone.’” 

I got off the floor myself. Something about letting her literally speak down to me made me feel like a small child, even though Dawn, of all my relatives, made a concerted effort to treat me as an equal. The few dinosaurs still littering the floor didn’t help matters. “I’ve had a few regrets like that myself. I honestly think that Richard’s compliments sting so badly because the backhand he uses in them is the same one I use beat myself up.” 

Dawn actually laughed. “Sometimes I have trouble following your metaphors.” 

I grinned back at her. “Just call me Mr. Confusing English Class Device.” 

“I prefer Jeff. It’s shorter.” She wrapped one arm around me. “You know, with a few more years of perspective, you may not regret so many things any more. First because you _don’t_ know how much longer you have. Why spend your life worrying about who you were that you aren’t anymore?” I gave her a hug and escaped from her arm. She’s prone to suddenly break into noogies when she’s feeling sentimental enough for a hug. I wanted to be free of her reach as quickly as possible. “And secondly because those steps—whether they were missteps or not—make you who you are now. And you’re actually pretty cool…for a little brother.” 

“And you have moments when you’re not totally retched as well.” Dawn pretended to look annoyed. “C’mon, big sister and role model, are you ready to face the world—and your future—yet?” 

“I guess so, thanks to you.” She enveloped me in a hug again, and this time I let her. “You know, my roommates are throwing a party in a few weeks, to celebrate graduation and all the jobs and opportunities coming our way. You maybe want to come? I’d love to introduce you to everyone.” 

I eyed her suspiciously. “What kind of party?” I was picturing Woodstock for some reason: Dirty hippies and brown acid that you just don’t want to take. Or at the very least, a stereotypical college fraternity party. 

Dawn returned the gaze. From her expression, she thought I was _hoping_ for that frat party. “A dinner party, dum-dum. Everyone dresses up a bit, and we serve a whole meal, from appetizers to dessert. If you behave, I’ll even let you have some wine.” 

I shook my head. “I don’t drink anymore,” I told her, a little proud to be able to say that. 

Dawn dropped her arm, which had still been draped around my shoulder. “You don’t drink? Since when?” she asked. I knew she had to be thinking of the time four years before when the two of us had stolen a bottle of…something; I got too drunk to remember _what_ afterward—and had split it, sitting in the backyard while our parents slept. 

I shrugged at her, not really wanting to explain myself. I hadn’t really outgrown drinking so much as I’d realized I had a problem. “Since I found out there was more to life and better ways to have fun,” I finally explained vaguely. 

“You don’t drink,” Dawn echoed, but a smile grew on her lips. “Who are you?” 

I shrugged again. We both knew what was about to happen next. “You know who I am,” I insisted. “I’m Jeff Schafer…” 

“…the bipolar bisexual,” we finished together. This time, I linked my arm around her and we finally left her bedroom. 

*** 

Dad didn’t make it home until after lunch. By then, Dawn and I had gone an ironic route and had pulled out all our childhood games, playing them one at a time. We’d started with Candyland and Cootie and now we were playing Chutes and Ladders. Gracie ran straight in, carrying a bag from a local toy store. I suspected bribery had been involved at some point during the day. “What are you doing?” she asked the two of us suspiciously. Her real question was ‘What are you doing with my stuff?’ even though even she’d outgrown these games. 

Dawn answered her without looking up from the board. She seemed more interested in avoiding eye contact with Dad, who was carrying several bags himself and had paused inside the door, than in the game. “We’re playing backwards,” she explained vaguely. 

I spun the spinner and moved my piece around the board. “You start at 100 and move the wrong way. You go up slides and down ladders.” 

Gracie narrowed her eyes. “You’re not supposed to climb up slides,” she proclaimed. That was one of the many ‘playground rules’ that had been thoroughly drilled into her head, both at school and at home. 

“We know,” I said as Dawn’s little red figurine came to the top of a ladder and then zoomed to the bottom. That was exactly why we were playing this way: it was a commentary on the ‘pointless rebellion’ we’d both been engaged in for the past so many years. At least, that’s what Dawn said. For me, games had always just been more fun when the rules were corrupted. “Since this game is just pretend, it’s okay as long as everyone agrees on those rules.” 

Grace stood so close beside me that I had a face full of her hair. I shifted to the far side of my chair. “Can I play?” she asked. 

I glanced over at Dawn, deciding to let her answer, but before she could agree, Dad jumped in. “That’s a good idea,” he answered Grace. There was a definite edge to his voice and I turned to look him in the face. “Jeff, why don’t you and your little sister go play in her room?” He gave me a pointed look that cut off any arguments I might have had. 

Gracie didn’t see the look. “But—” she began. I wasn’t sure if she didn’t like being dismissed or if she was going to insist Dawn come with us. 

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said, gripping Gracie’s shoulder. “We’ll go to my room. Do you want to play this, or do you want me to play Monopoly Junior with you?” 

Her eyes lit up. “Monopoly Junior!” she exclaimed, running off to find it. 

I got to my feet more slowly, shifting my gaze from Dad to Dawn and back again. Dawn was starting to throw all the pieces back into the Chutes and Ladders box, still not looking away from the table. “Have fun,” she called to me sarcastically. We were both well aware of the fact that Monopoly Junior is one of the most tedious and annoying games on earth. I gazed at her for a moment and she finally looked up at me. Under the sarcastic tone was a definite expression of displeasure and fear. 

I heard Gracie run from her room, slamming her door behind her, the tokens in the game box jingling. I stifled a sigh and moseyed off to meet her before she got decided to enter my room and mess with something that she shouldn’t touch. 

Carol had been hiding in her own room all morning and even through lunch, but she peeked her head through the door as I walked by. “What’s going on?” she asked quietly. She’d clearly heard Grace was back home, because how could you miss her? 

I leaned in the doorway, close enough for a semblance of privacy but far enough away that Carol had to lean in as I spoke in a low voice. “The fit is about to hit the shan,” I told her. She raised her eyebrows, and I wasn’t sure if it was at the sentiment or how I’d phrased it. I wracked my brain for a moment, trying to remember where I’d heard that saying before. I had a vision of a very similar set up, only it was Mary Anne and I who were standing in a doorway, waiting for an argument to explode between Dawn and Richard, and she’d been the one who’d said it. That had been quite some time ago, but to this day I still didn’t think I’d ever heard Mary Anne actually swear. 

I waited for Carol to reply to my take on things, but when she didn’t, I finished my thought. “Forgive me for telling you what to do, but I’d stay the hell out of the kitchen if I were you.” 

She nodded wearily. “Let me know if you get tired of Grace and I’ll take her off your hands, okay?” 

Gracie set up the Monopoly board and I put a CD in my computer, wanting to drown out the arguing when it began…which it never did. I was stuck playing Monopoly Junior for almost an hour. After the first fifteen minutes, when the fight to end all fights never materialized, I began mercilessly cheating. When I had to pay five dollars to the bank, I’d pay much more than that. While Grace was slowly sounding out the words on her cards or carefully studying the board to decide whether or not to buy a property, I’d take money out of my hand and stick it back in the bank. My goal was to quickly go bankrupt, but it failed miserably. No matter what I did, Grace kept landing on my few meager properties and steadily supplied me with income. We only stopped playing because Grace got frustrated and decided she wanted to go outside instead. 

With my room finally quiet, I buckled down to my homework, getting into a little nerdy groove that I seldom find on a Saturday—or any other time. By the time I looked at the clock again, three hours had gone by. I’d finished all my Monday reading and assignments and only had a little left to do for Tuesday. It was almost dinner time, and I hadn’t heard a single peep out of Dawn or my father in nearly four hours. 

I ventured out into the kitchen to find it empty. Confused, I made a quick tour of the house, not finding anyone in any of the rooms. I even went outside to check the car situation. Maybe everyone had made up and gone out to dinner without me? Both Dad and Carol’s cars were in the garage, but Dawn’s was missing. It seemed more likely she’d headed back to school without saying goodbye. 

That possibility became more likely as the rest of my family began to materialize. Carol had taken Gracie to the park, while Dad had been hiding in his office. I’d found a casserole in the freezer and thrown it in the oven, figuring at the very least I’d have to eat something soon. The members of my family who actually lived in my house gathered around the table for what was probably the most somber meal we’ve ever eaten. Not a single word was spoken that didn’t relate directly to the food: Please pass the tea; Mrs. Bruen really outdid herself this time; Thanks for setting the table. 

That continued throughout the evening, with no sign of Dawn’s imminent return. Tired of all the silent drama and even more tired of working on my school work, I offered to put Grace to bed. I poured her a bubble bath and let her get away with not washing her hair. After more stories than she’s usually allowed to hear before bed, I asked if she wanted ‘just one more.’ But Gracie had other plans for the next few minutes. “Jeff?” she asked drowsily through heavily-lidded eyes. She’d be asleep before too long. “Where’d Dawn go? Is something wrong?” 

Maybe Gracie wasn’t as clueless about what was going on around her as she seemed. I decided to keep it simple. “She and Daddy had a fight, and sometimes the best thing to do when you fight with someone is to go away from them for a little while. It’s better to calm down before you finish talking so that you don’t say things you don’t mean.” 

Grace’s eyes closed. “Me and Mackenzie fight sometimes,” she said, snuggling up to her pillow. “One time she called me a big jerk. Do you think Daddy called Dawn a big jerk?” 

Probably more like the other way around, I thought. “Probably not,” I said aloud. 

She opened her eyes briefly and reached for my hand. “Let’s never fight, Jeff,” she said into her pillow. “I don’t ever want to call you a big jerk, even though you are one sometimes.” 

I let out a small chuckle. I think she’d just summed me up perfectly there. “Whatever you say, Kiddo. Get some sleep.” 

*** 

I spent the rest of the evening on the phone with Byron. He’s a good sounding board for stuff because he legitimately listens, even when he can’t relate to whatever you’re talking about. I’m sure he couldn’t figure out why I was so worked up over a fight between my father and sister, because, with seven siblings, there must be constant parent-child bickering. “The difference is in the nature of it,” I finally said after thirty minutes of hashing out the details. “Your parents don’t have too many rules, and the few they do have are for your own good…or your family’s good. When you go home and tell your parents you’re going across the country to finish the rest of your schooling in Berkeley, they’ll support you in that. If one of your sisters said she was going to Kenya with the Peace Corp, they might be concerned about it, but they’d end up deciding it was an adventure of a lifetime and telling her to bring back lots of photos.” 

“That’s true,” he acknowledged. His dorm was noisier than ever, with extremely loud country music nearly drowning out his words. He’d already mentioned his urge to find the offending stereo system and ‘fix’ it with a hammer; apparently the only thing Byron liked less than loud music was loud country music. “But you must know, Jeff, that your dad wants what’s best for you and your sisters, too. He’ll come around eventually.” The music got briefly even louder and then went back to the dull roar it had been throughout the conversation. Either he’d opened and closed his door, or whoever was blasting the music that loud was doing so through a closed door. “You know, this might come out wrong, but think of it as being similar to how he responded when you told him you liked guys.” 

He’d lost me. “How so?” 

By moved as far from the door as possible. “At first he seemed violently opposed to the idea, remember?” He was pulling a Dawn, trying to remind me of my own history. Come to think of it, Carol had done the same thing to me the night before. I decided I was being too sensitive to the thought that I didn’t remember anything, and moved on. “Then he said he supported you, but you doubted his words some, because his actions didn’t seem to match what he’d said.” 

He paused, probably to let me remember some more, and I picked up his thread. “But with time—and proof—he came around.” By made an emphatic ‘mmmhmm!’ sound in agreement. “So you think that once he gets past the initial shock and realizes Dawn’s serious—and not a child anymore—he’ll get past his horror?” 

“That’s exactly what I think.” Byron’s door opened again, and this time, giggly female voices replaced the country music as the background sound. “Oh, look,” he said, more to his new guests than to me, “Beavis and Butthead are here.” 

I heard one of the girls say to the other, “I’m Butthead, okay? Y’all get to be Beavis.” 

The other girl came closer to the phone. “Let me guess what’s—I mean who’s—hogging your attention.” She pried the phone from Byron’s hand and chirped, “Hi Jeff!” at me. 

I chuckled. “Who is this?” I demanded, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer. 

There was a brief scuffle for the phone and then By was back. “You’ll have to forgive Jossie,” he told me, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’d say she was drunk, but unfortunately, this is just what she’s always like.” 

Jossie shouted from a distance. “Jeff, would you mind terribly if we kidnaped your boyfriend and took him to La Bamba’s? He hasn’t had his weekly dose of guacamole yet.” 

I did kind of mind, because I wanted to finish our conversation, but I figured at least one of us should be having fun on a Saturday night. “Go and have a good time. Have a bite of guac for me,” I told him. 

“Okay,” he said. “We can pick this up tomorrow if you want.” 

“Yeah, I might want. Love ya.” 

“Love you, too.” I could hear Jossie and Alizah both teasing Byron by going ‘Oohh!’ in overly middle-school voices as he clicked the phone off, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my morose family. Byron was probably right, though; Dad would see the light eventually. And if he didn’t, he’d definitely get over it when Dawn came back from Kenya in one piece. And perhaps Dawn had just figured that out and decided it would be better to talk to him later…when the reality of her leaving was too big to ignore. 

I wound up going to bed fairly early, just because I had nothing else to do. I tossed and turned for an hour, watching the world outside my bedroom window, before I finally fell asleep. It seemed like I was only asleep for five minutes when someone shook me awake. I sat up with a start, in an adrenaline-fueled haze, thinking something terrible had happened. “What?” I asked out of nowhere. I was half-surprised that the house wasn’t on fire, although I’m not sure if that had more to do with the shaking or the dream I’d been having right before that, about a pissed-off dragon that vaguely resembled my father. 

Someone was sitting on my bed, giggling. “Gracie?” I asked, even though this was clearly a fully-grown person. 

“Not even close.” Dawn moved into the light from the streetlight, closer to my head. She was clutching something tightly in one hand and it took me a minute to realize it was a bottle in a bag from Tanner’s Liquor. I shuddered, remembering one night when Risa and I had split a bottle of Boone’s Farm that had been in one of those bags. 

“Where have you been?” I asked her, finally starting to get my bearings. “Dad and Carol seemed to think you’d gone back to your apartment.” I hadn’t really asked, but that had been the general reaction when Grace had brought up Dawn’s absence in their presence. 

She shook her head. “Nope. They can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m here for the weekend and I’m going to enjoy myself to the fullest while I’m here.” She was, to put it elegantly, smashed. She took a swig from the bottle and then actually wiped her mouth with her hand. “C’mon, Jeffy. Let’s go out back, sit on the swing and split this bottle.” 

I paused, considering her offer. If she didn’t have the drink, I would have said yes right away. Not only did I enjoy spending time with Dawn, she was so drunk that she was into the realm of making bad choices. It occurred to me, among other things, that she must have driven while intoxicated to get back home from Tanner’s, which was on the other side of town. I kind of wanted to keep an eye on her; Dawn is never more like me than when she’s drunk and pissed off. 

I was still considering when she shoved me with her free hand. “Come oooooon, Jeffy,” she crowed in a sing-song voice. “You know you wanna.” 

My concern for her welfare finally overrode my wariness about the bottle of whatever in her hand. I could always pretend to drink with her; she wasn’t sober enough to tell the difference. “I’ll join you if you promise to stop calling me Jeffy.” She giggled in response, covering her mouth with her hand in a futile attempt to stop the sound. “I’ll meet you outside, okay? I need to put on a little more clothing.” 

Dawn stumbled out the door, nearly hitting the doorframe on her way. I sighed as I pulled on a t-shirt and threw on a pair of sweatpants. I crept through the house in my bare feet. Both Dawn and I had learned pretty quickly in our rebellious years that Dad and Carol sleep like logs. Once they were out for the night, you could do just about anything you pleased and they wouldn’t wake up, but I always found myself tiptoeing anyway. 

I found Dawn exactly where she said she would be: on the swing set. She was trying to see how high she could swing, and when she reached the apex of one round, she kicked off a sandal. It nearly hit me in the head. “Watch it, nutty woman,” I called to her from across the yard. 

“Betcha can’t swing as high as I can!” she shouted in reply. 

I sat down on the other swing. “I don’t think I want to even try,” I noted. She’d left her bottle sitting in the grass near the swing set, and while her attention was distracted, I hid it behind this old wooden planter. 

Dawn swung higher and higher until I worried that she’d lean the wrong way one time and wind up in a heap in the dirt. “This is the appropriate ending to today,” she called in breathy gasps between pumps. She’s not out of shape, but she was panting like she couldn’t catch her breath. “If Dad’s going to treat me like a child, then I’m going to act like one!” 

I wondered whether she was referring to the swinging or the drunken tantrum. There was something innately juvenile about the fact that Dad was able to get to her that thoroughly. “Hey,” I said, rocking my swing back and forth a little bit, “Why don’t we swing together like we used to when we were little?” 

She actually slowed down and reached over and grabbed my swing chain. I breathed a sigh of relief and did the same. We swung for a while, keeping the swings low. Dawn was starting to simmer down a little bit. She leaned toward my swing and I leaned toward hers, our heads nearly touching. We didn’t talk, at least at first. She finally turned to me and, instead of some heartwarming words, she just said, “Where’d you put my bottle?” 

Darn it. That was definitely the downside to her sobering up: she became more lucid. “It’s around here somewhere,” I answered her vaguely. 

She let go of my swing, sending it swaying from side to side, and jumped off her own. I cringed as she went straight to the planter and reached down behind it. “You have _always_ hid stuff there, Jeff,” Dawn said with a laugh as she snagged the Tanner’s bag and drank deeply from the bottle within. 

“What can I say?” I said with a shrug, “I have a fondness for the classics.” 

She sat back down in her swing and held the bottle toward me. “Want?” 

“I told you,” I said slowly, “I don’t drink anymore.” 

“C’mon, Jeffy,” she sing-songed again. “Join me.” 

She sounded like I used to when we were younger and I used to try to baby-voice her into joining me in something. I’d quit doing it because I’d realized how much it made me sound like an idiot. I was getting annoyed; drunk or not, there’s a limit to how much of her talking like a toddler I could stand. Even if her offer to drink had been tempting, seeing how ridiculous she looked and acted right at that moment took away any urge. “I don’t want any damn alcohol, okay?” I insisted, crossing my hands in front of my chest, trying to look stern. “Leave me alone.” 

This made Dawn giggle hysterically. “Who said anything about alcohol?” she asked, reaching inside the bag. She gripped the bottle in the middle so that I couldn’t see the label and handed it to me grandly. 

I looked down at the half-empty bottle in my hands. “Grandma Garden’s Organic Carrot Juice?” I read aloud incredulously. “You mean I’ve been trying to hide healthy things from you all this time?” 

Dawn sat back down on the swing beside me, sounding a lot more sober now that she was done yelling, baby-talking and giggling. “I finished drinking a couple hours ago,” she said quietly. She pushed the swing a little so that it was moving, but not ridiculously high like earlier. Her feet never left the ground this time. “I heard you when you said you don’t drink. I figure there’s a story behind that, and I wouldn’t want to do anything to disrespect that.” 

I read the opening she was leaving me and decided, what the hell? Might as well tell her my story. “I figured out that, for me, one drink leads to five, which leads to poor judgment. It’s just not worth it to start.” 

Dawn looked at me, twisting her swing sideways so she could see my face better. “You know, that’s pretty adult of you. I always figured you’d keep drinking until someday we had to hold an intervention for you.” 

I kicked her shin with one bare foot. She grinned slyly at me, and then lifted her feet off the ground, allowing her swing to spin around in weak circles. She pulled her heels up on the swing in front of her, wrapping her arms around the swing chain. 

I took a big gulp of carrot juice. “You think you’re kidding,” I said, “but that’s something I actually worry about.” 

Dawn’s toes went back down into the dirt, stopping her movement flat. Her hair was completely loose at this point, and she let go of one chain to swipe it all out of her face. “You’re just joking, right?” she asked. The expression on her face was pained, like I’d just physically hurt her, and her tone was a little hopeful—in a way that said she really wished I’d agree with her, even though she knew I wouldn’t. 

“Nope.” It was my turn to lean back and start pumping, pushing off in the swing. Dawn watched me swing higher and higher before I stopped pumping and let myself slow down. She didn’t speak, waiting for me to explain myself further, but I didn’t really feel there was anything left to say on the subject. 

We sat side by side silently for a few minutes, passing the carrot juice back and forth until the bottle was empty. Dawn tossed it in the direction of the house. I winced, waiting for it to smash, but instead it landed with a dull thud. “When did you become an adult?” she said, breaking the quiet I’d been relishing. 

I laughed, mostly because the question was so absurd. “I turned eighteen seven months ago,” I reminded her. “You should know, because you still haven’t given me a birthday present.” 

“Jeeeeffffff,” she admonished me. I just grinned my cheesiest grin back at her, which made her turn up one corner of her mouth. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. When I turned eighteen, I didn’t have an adult bone in my body. I was completely content to let Dad and Carol make all the big decisions, even as I was screaming at them to quit treating me like a baby. I didn’t really consider myself an adult until I moved to Peru and actually had to act like one. I had to manage my money and do my own laundry, and there was no one to fall back on when I made a mistake.” 

“If that’s how you define adulthood,” I mused out loud, “I’m not sure I qualify. I still live at home. Mrs. Bruen does my laundry. And I gave Dad control of my checking account and he doles me out an allowance, since I’ve been known to get a little crazy with the debit card sometimes.” 

“I guess it’s just a matter of perspective,” Dawn said. “You definitely feel like an adult to me. You’ve figured out those parts of your life you don’t have control over, and you got the help to control them before they spiraled completely out of whack. I guess that’s the main difference between you and me.” 

“Want to point that out to Dad?” I asked drolly. 

“Hell, no,” Dawn chuckled. “My words don’t carry much weight with him these days.” 

I shrugged at her. “Wait till this shit blows over,” I suggested. “Honestly, Dawn, you should hear how he talks about you when you’re not here. It’s like you’re his angel—this impossible standard that I can never live up to.” 

Had Dawn been drinking, she would have made a spit take at that point. “How?” she asked, bewildered. “I’m pretty sure the two of us are even-steven when it comes to trouble. We were both always getting grounded; you got suspended…once, I think?” She paused a moment but I didn’t get a chance to confirm or deny. “And I got arrested twice, so that’s pretty even.” 

I almost lost my balance in the swing. “What the hell?” I asked. I was matching her bewildered with gob smacked. “Back up a minute here. I have to ask two questions. First…you were _arrested_? When did that happen?”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that,” she said. “Dad was beyond pissed, even though one time I wasn’t even here in the state.” 

I put my head on my hand and turned it toward her. I was starting to get sleepy. “As they demonstrated yesterday, Dad and Carol still tend to stop talking about things when I enter the room. I can always tell when they’re upset, but I usually assume it’s _my_ fault.” Dawn snickered some more. “So what exactly did you get arrested for, anyway?” 

“The first time was trespassing. It was no big deal; Sunny and I were hiking and accidentally wound up in someone’s backyard. Dad was more pissed that the idiot pressed charges than the fact that I’d been on his land.” I rolled my eyes, because that was exactly what I’d been thinking. “Then that last summer we were in Stoneybrook together, I got together with a group of my old middle school friends. We were partying in the woods out behind the sawmill and a cop found us. Everyone else got a ticket for underaged drinking, but because I didn’t have my ID on me, I got hauled to the station. They found a joint in my pocket. Boy, was Richard ever pissed. I think he might have been more mad than Dad was.” 

“Well,” I suggested thoughtfully, “Richard had Mary Anne to compare you against. I’m not sure she even has a rebellious bone in her body. Of course we’re going to look bad against that standard.” 

“Like I said, Jeff, it’s a matter of perspective. Mary Anne rebels, but in her own quiet, introverted way.” 

I thought about that for a minute. “Like Byron deciding he wasn’t going to drink during spring break last year, even though all the rest of us were.” 

“Exactly that type of thing. Except I can’t picture Mary Anne ever turning down any alcohol, if you get what I’m saying.” 

I remembered with amusement when she’d shown up at Byron’s sister’s holiday party after polishing off a bottle of wine on her own. “Yeah, I get it,” I said with a grin. 

“Anyway, what’s this about you thinking I’m a perfect angel?” Dawn asked, nudging my thigh with her bare toes. “Dad always called me a hooligan, and Mom said I was a spoiled little girl. I shudder to think about what Richard probably called me.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to ask you about.” I struggled to right my head and shook myself slightly. “I barely remember you ever getting grounded.” I could only recall a handful of incidents. 

“You know why that is?” she asked, speaking louder and animatedly. She was finally seeing the whole picture. “Everyone in the whole house always knew anytime _you_ were in trouble, because you raised a giant stink about it every time. Mrs. Cohen three doors down could probably hear you and Dad going at it sometimes.” Both of us snickered, even though it was true. “I was a lot quieter about it. I didn’t want to give Dad the satisfaction of proving him right when he called me a brat.” 

I felt my eyelids closing. “Passive resistance?” I asked her. 

She grinned. “More like passive delinquency.” We sat silently again, with Dawn twisting around slightly on her swing, one toe digging into the dirt beneath her, and my eyes shut. “You’re falling asleep in your swing,” she finally announced, her amusement clear. “What happened to the old Jeff Schafer who got by on three hours of sleep and then went to take finals?” 

I opened my eyes enough to glare at her, but it was mostly for show. “He now works full time, goes to school full time, and still finds time to be the best damn brother in the history of the universe.” 

She laughed. “Remember what I said earlier about perspective?” I closed my eyes again, but I chuckled a little bit. I knew she was mostly kidding. I could tell even without looking that she was observing me closely. “Okay, Jeff let’s get you to bed. Do you need me to carry you?” she asked. 

“Would you?” Dawn sniggered. I struggled to my feet. “You know something, Dawn?” She had gotten off her swing and was a couple paces in front of me and she turned around, giving me a questioning glance. “Even if Dad never comes around, I don’t think you should worry about it. You gotta do what’s right for you, not him.” 

This time the smile was wistful. “All the same, I think I’m going to try talking to him again before I head back home. I just have to figure out what I’m going to say.” 

I thought hard about it—not what I would say to Dad, mind you, but what Byron would say to _his_ father. “What about, ‘I’m not doing this to spite you or worry you, Dad. I’m doing it because it’s an opportunity to see the world and help make it a better place. I hope you can accept that, or at least respect it.’” 

She stopped in her tracks and stared at me. “Where did that come from?” she asked, her eyes huge—and not just because it was dark out. “That’s exactly what I need to say.” 

I remembered a conversation, six months before, and I echoed the words as I linked my arm through hers. “I have special magical powers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that took me almost a full month longer than I said it would. I'm sorry! Hope it was worth the wait!
> 
>  
> 
> Next in _A Year Apart_ : It's April, and the play (or musical) is the thing.


End file.
